Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Relationship:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2023-04-20
Words:
1,618
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
96
Kudos:
3,074
Bookmarks:
467
Hits:
27,445

giving to steal (the pinnacle of am)

Summary:

Heir Theodore Nott smugly and deftly steals Heiress Harriet Potter away from the pureblood wizard who is courting her.

Notes:

The title comes from a poem by e.e. cummings.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Heir Theodore Nott straightens his cravat, smooths down a lock of his deep brown curls, and smirks at his reflection in the mirror, his aureate eyes glinting with smugness. He has been looking forward to this all week.  

“Why are you dressing up?” Heir Draco Malfoy queries, a frown on his pointy face. It is unsurprising. Draco has never tolerated not knowing everything about everyone. “You’re putting more effort into your appearance right now than I’ve ever seen you do at Hogwarts. You didn’t even bother this much for the Yule Ball.”

Turning in a circle, Theo examines himself closely for flaws. His trousers, dragonhide boots, and formal wizarding coat are impeccable. He cannot find a single fault. He’s ready.

“He must have a Courtship Date,” Heir Blaise Zabini speculates from where he is lounging on his bed in his pajamas still, at half noon on a Saturday.

“I must, must I?” Theo replies with a smirk.

“Impossible!” Draco blurts out, gawping. He waves a hand as if he can Banish the words from the room and reality. “Pansy keeps me informed of everything courting related in the school. There’s no way Theo has a Courtship Date. Pansy would have definitely heard about it, which means I would have too, no matter how hard he tried to keep it a secret.”

“If he’s keeping it a secret, it must be a Gryffindor,” Blaise says.

Draco wrinkles his nose and states, “Pansy wastes useful brain space on keeping track of the Gryffindors, too. There’s no way—”

“I,” Theo says with relish, turning to grin at his two closest friends, “have a Courtship Date with Heiress Harriet Potter in ten minutes.”

“Liar!” Draco yells, pointing at Theo with all the theatricality and melodrama that haunts the Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy.

Blaise deigns to sit up from his sprawled position, a thick, dark eyebrow crawling its way up toward his dreadlocks. “Mister Terry Boot is courting Heiress Potter. They’ve been on two Courtship Dates. Everyone knows he got special permission to escort her to the Puddlemere United game today.”

Theo smirks, vicious and victorious all at once, and purrs, “Correction. Boot was courting Heiress Potter. That’s all about to change.”

“How are you planning to accomplish that?” Draco demands.

Theo is the Heir of the Cunning and Most Ancient House of Nott. He has been planning his campaign to secure Heiress Harriet Potter as his lady-wife for the past four years. It is mildly irritating that Boot has interfered in those plans, requiring Theo to move his timeline up, but that will not affect the outcome.

Notts are famous, after all—infamous, in some circles of society—for stealing whomever they love away from any and all other suitors. Anyone who is unwise enough to attempt to court and bond with whomever a Nott loves dearly enough to destroy the world, deserves to have their heart broken for believing they will succeed in such folly.

“That is for me to know and you to read about in the international society pages tomorrow,” Theo replies, chuckling when Draco huffs and stomps his foot, a childish habit he still has not broken at the age of seventeen.

“Theo,” Draco whines, somehow making it sound like Theo’s name has three syllables. 

“I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up for me,” Theo mockingly replies before exiting the dorm room.

He leaves the Slytherin Common Room just as promptly, keeping a portion of his attention on the tracking charm he placed on Boot during Transfiguration yesterday. Soon, he will steal Harriet right out of the Ravenclaw’s grasp.

No other outcome is acceptable.

Theo walks nonchalantly up the staircase from the dungeons to arrive in the Entrance Hall at the same time as Mister Terry Boot steps off the main staircase, having come down from Ravenclaw Tower.

Harriet leans against the wall nearby, her black hair swept up in a messy bun. The fitted cream trousers flatter her shapely, fit legs. The Potter-Crimson blouse emphasizes her considerable assets without being crass. Yet, it is the viciousness she showed when defending her younger brother, Edward, from bullies back in fourth year that won his interest and heart, not her admittedly pleasing figure.

Boot beams at Harriet and takes a step toward her, his mouth opening to greet her, which is entirely unacceptable.

Theo saunters into Boot’s line-of-sight and stares at the Ravenclaw without speaking a single word. He does not require a mirror to know that his golden eyes are screaming exactly how much violence he intends to inflict upon Boot should he choose to continue in his current course of action.

“Darling, you look lovely this morning,” Theo says when he reaches Harriet’s side.

Shock flits through Harriet’s piercing green eyes for just a moment. Then amusement carves its way across her face. “Someone feels presumptuous this morning.”

That teasing response, instead of a rebuke for his uninvited endearment, quashes the tiniest hint of fear that Harriet might have become emotionally invested in Boot already—who is, even Theo can admit, an upstanding gentleman. Thankfully, it seems she was merely exploring the possibility of a future between them, as he had assumed.

“I would be delighted if you would allow me to escort you on our first Courtship Date, darling,” Theo says, smirking when her eyes fill with mirth at his boldness.

“I’m afraid I have plans today, Heir Nott,” Harriet replies, sounding genuinely regretful.

“Pity,” Theo drawls as he casually flicks two tickets into his hand, tilting them just so, so that the sunlight streaming through the castle doors will fall on the gold print. “I have two tickets to the International Jousting Tournament which is being held in Magical Belgium today.”

Harriet lurches forward and grabs his wrist. “How, in all of Avalon, did you manage to get tickets? Not even my father was able to get me tickets.”

It goes without saying that there is very little in the world that is ever denied to Lord James Potter, Duke of The Eternal Eyrie.

“I didn’t kill anyone for them,” Theo replies airily, though, honestly, he might have done so if necessary. Nothing was too far when it came to ensuring Harriet would reject Boot and choose Theo as her only acceptable suitor. “Someone of some importance owed me a favor.”

“That must have been some favor,” Harriet replies, releasing her tight grip on his wrist, her gaze still fixed on the tickets.

Theo instantly misses the warmth of her hands against his skin, the heat of her easily seeping through her cream gloves. He wants to be the first and only wizard who ever feels her bare flesh against his.

With a smoothness that would make Draco grit his teeth and stamp his feet with jealousy, and make Blaise nod his approval, Theo slides a ring over the top of her glove on the fourth finger of her left hand. The band is mithril and has a single radiant cut diamond embedded in the band. As far as rings go, it is simple. However, Harriet never wears extravagant jewelry. There is not a doubt in Theo’s mind that it is precisely to her taste, which is all that matters.

When Harriet tears her gaze away from the ring, there is a fervor and passion in her gaze that Theo has never before witnessed. He desires for her to look at him thusly all the rest of his days.

“I have plans,” Harriet rasps, voice pained, as if—more than anything—she wishes her honor were not engaged elsewhere.

And, right on cue, to Theo’s immense self-satisfaction, Mister Terry Boot says, “I release you from our planned outing, Heiress Potter.”

She turns toward Boot, which might wound Theo if her eyes were not full of pitying regret, and says, “Mister Boot, I—”

Somehow, Boot manages a smile that appears genuine. It is commendable. If Theo were ever so unfortunate as to be in Boot’s position, he knows he would not be able to handle it with even a modicum of grace. He would have literally dropped to his knees and begged Harriet to give him another chance.

“You don’t owe me an apology or an explanation, Heiress Potter,” Boot says with a smile. “I wish you and Heir Nott a pleasant day.”

Harriet turns back to Theo as Boot walks away, reaching for him with the hand that bears what any member of the elite would consider an engagement ring, first courtship gift or not. She tucks her hand at his elbow, the most intimate manner in which a pureblood wizard might escort a pureblood witch, and says, “I hope you’re aware that you’ve set the threshold high, Heir Theo, for future Courtship Dates.”

The simple assurance that Harriet already intends to allow him to continue courting her is a balm to the final remnants of his worries.

“I will raise the threshold with each successive Courtship Date,” Theo replies with unshakable determination.

He has an entire journal filled solely with each successive step of their courtship, factoring in every possible scenario that can be accounted for, so that he might secure her affections and future as his lady-wife as promptly and thoroughly as is possible.

“Somehow, I believe that,” Harriet replies.

“Good, because I’m telling the truth,” Theo answers as he leads her out of the castle.

After all, if it would bring about his desired outcome—Harriet’s magic and soul twined with his for eternity—Theo would do anything, even claw his way up to the Divine Realm and throw himself at the feet of their goddess, to prove himself worthy of a pureblood witch who descends from Death Itself.

Notes:

I chat and do ask games on Tumblr.