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Heiress Theadra Nott is on her way to Madgwick to reconvene with her friends for lunch. When they arrived in Hogsmeade two hours past, everyone split off to complete their own shopping. She’s quite satisfied with the new quills she purchased at Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop and the sweets she acquired at Honeydukes.
High Street is, as usual, bustling. It’s to be expected during a Hogsmeade weekend. Many students’ families use it as an opportunity to visit and catch up over a meal or a spot of tea. She wends her way through the crowd, hoping Leisure Lane will be calmer than the main thoroughfare of the all-magical village.
Cries of “Mum!” and “Dad!” fill the air.
Theadra swerves around a blonde Hufflepuff who’s flinging herself at an older wizard, a seventh-year Ravenclaw who’s kissing his beau’s cheek, and a herd of Gryffindors who all have red-hued hair, though in varying shades.
The turn-off for Leisure Lane—a street comprised of businesses founded by New Bloods—is in sight. Soon enough, she’ll be away from the fuss and dining at Madgwick. It’s her favorite restaurant in Hogsmeade. The food is divine.
After dodging around several children playing with a child’s Golden Snitch—which won’t fly higher than four feet off the ground—she successfully escapes the worst of the bedlam.
Theadra is not far down Leisure Lane when a small hand grasps her cloak, tugs on it, and asks, “Are you going to bond with High Lord Slytherin?”
“I beg your pardon?” Theadra replies, arching an eyebrow as she abruptly halts and glances downward. The child holding onto her cloak is an almost exact replica, in miniature, of Heir Charlus Potter. He has honey-hazel eyes, unruly, dark hair, and is clad in Potter-Crimson robes.
The boy bows without releasing his hold on her cloak and says, “I’m Master Edmund Potter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Heiress Theadra Nott,” she replies, humoring the child with a curtsy. “The pleasure is mine.” If nothing else, she will emerge from this encounter with an amusing anecdote to share with her fellow Slytherins while they dine.
Edmund smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Are you going to bond with High Lord Slytherin?”
High Lord Tom Slytherin is very dear to Theadra; however, she isn’t in love with him. Her father took Tom in once he was discovered in the Muggle World due to a bout of accidental magic at age six. She grew up alongside Tom in Nott Manor. They might not be related by blood, but she certainly considers him a brother regardless.
It’s tempting to ask why Edmund wants to know, but she decides that answering outright is more important. Theadra certainly doesn’t want anyone to believe she has even the slightest romantic interest in Tom.
“No, I’m not,” Theadra replies.
Edmund’s little face brightens. He grins so widely that dimples appear on each cheek. “Truly? You aren’t bonding with him?” He hops in place, tugging on her cloak in the process.
“Truly,” Theadra answers.
“Are you in love with anyone?” Edmund asks, his eyes sparkling even as his little face turns serious again.
Theadra is the Heiress of the Cunning and Most Ancient House of Nott. That second question provides her with enough clues to reach a conclusion as to what has led to this encounter. It’s … flattering. More than a little surprising, to be sure, but flattering all the same.
She crouches to Edmund’s level, ignoring the few other people nearby. It’s nigh impossible to prevent gossip in pureblood society; if her conclusion is correct—as they nearly always are—she has no intention of wasting her time trying to stifle something that will soon become common knowledge.
“Does your brother fancy me?” Theadra inquires.
Edmund releases her cloak and grabs ahold of one of her glove-covered hands with both of his. He stares into her eyes and says, “Charlus is madly in love with you. He’s sad all the time because he thinks you’ll be bonding with High Lord Slytherin.”
Theadra shifts her understanding of past events in light of this new information. It seems that Heir Potter’s longing looks weren’t aimed at Lady Dorea Black. Instead, they have apparently been for Theadra, herself, this entire time. Given Heir Potter’s supposed certainty that she and Tom intend to bond, it’s no wonder he never sent a courtship offer or approached her to gauge her interest.
What magical would be mad enough to attempt to compete against an Oligarchy Lord and a supposed love match? Not even a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, rendered insane by the curse on their bloodline, would be that mad.
The door of the nearest shop opens, the bell on it jangling merrily.
“No, Master Potter, I’m not in love with anyone,” Theadra says, finally answering his earlier question.
A sharply indrawn breath is immediately followed by a rasp of, “You’re not?” from off to the left.
Theadra glances up and feels pinned in place by the intensity of Charlus’s gaze. His hair is wind-blown, leaving it wilder than usual. His cheeks are slightly ruddy. He is as handsome as ever. The mere sight of him, knowing what she now knows, sends her pulse racing.
“You’d bond without love?” Charlus asks, sounding gutted.
It’s understandable why he’s made such an assumption, even if it’s wholly inaccurate. After all, there are countless purebloods who would bond with Tom solely to become a member of an Oligarchy House and receive all the honors and benefits that belong to that exalted sphere of pureblood society. For many, love wouldn’t even factor into such a decision.
Theadra is different. She might be a consummate Slytherin, but her future bonding will not be a transaction for worldly advantages.
“No,” Theadra refutes as she rises to her feet, “I wouldn’t.”
At the same time, Edmund reaches out with one hand, grabs onto Charlus’s cloak, and blurts out, voice filled to the brim with excitement, “She doesn’t love High Lord Slytherin and she’s not bonding with him, Charlus!”
Hope burns so brightly in Charlus’s honey-hazel eyes that it scorches Theadra to the bone.
“Is that true, Heiress Nott?” Charlus asks.
Theadra nods and replies, “It’s true.”
Charlus’s grin is blinding. He steps closer to her and asks, “Will you offer me a chance to prove my love for you, Heiress Nott? The courtship comb I commissioned is in my trunk at Hogwarts, but I can present it to you after dinner.”
Everyone in pureblood society knows precisely how devoted members of the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter are to those they love. Still, for Charlus to have commissioned a hair comb for her—the traditional first courtship gift offered by a Potter—when he believed she would never return his feelings and didn’t intend to actually offer it, certain of her refusal, is a staggeringly powerful expression of sincerity and commitment.
Warmth fills her from head to toe.
“Please say yes,” Edmund pleads, tugging on her hand. “I promise he really loves you.”
Theadra glances from one earnest face to the other, imagines being the recipient of such care and attention for decades, and answers, “Yes.”