Treacherous || T. Nott

ONE

Peyton's voice reverberated through the elegant confines of Theodore Nott's bedroom, urging, "Settle down, Nott." Theodore, thoroughly intoxicated from the Slytherin party, hanged on the edge of consciousness, barely registering his surroundings. "By the stars, how many shots did you take?"

Nott grinned uncertainly, puzzled by his own amusement. "I've just had a few..."

"Only three? You stared at the walls and asked if I had heard them too"

Peyton pushed a lock of her dark hair behind her ear as she settled beside Theodore Nott's form on the bed, the scent of whiskey lingering in the air. She examined his features, his bare abs revealed as she had removed his shirt out of concern for his comfort in the warmth.

Barely a minute after collapsing onto her bed, Theodore had already drifted into the realm of dreams, where memories of his disastrous first encounter with Peyton danced vividly in his mind.

They weren't even acquaintances back then.

Theodore was deeply fixated on making Peyton's life unbearable, despite her very high status. However, Peyton was not one to yield easily; she adopted the same determined attitude as him, leading to a relentless cycle of mutual torment during their second year.

After years of mutual hatred, it was a cruel twist of fate that they found themselves forced to dance together at the Yule Ball. Reluctantly, they sought comfort in the quietness of the astronomy tower that same fateful night, where they engaged in a discussion that spanned various topics, despite the weight of their shared history hanging heavily between them.

They still hated each other.

But they got quite along with each other nowadays.

Or at least that was what he thought.

In the hushed stillness, Peyton gazed at Theodore. Not a single noise disturbed the air, only the soft rhythm of his breathing reached her ears. While she harbored a desire to make his existence unbearable, ending his life was never in the plan.

"Pitiful," she muttered under her breath. From a young age, Peyton had been drilled with the belief to never display affection, not even towards those she deemed as friends. Her father's stern teachings had instilled in her the belief that love was a vulnerability to be avoided at all costs.

And Peyton never had a weakness told her father to her.

"Why must you always be drunk."

Peyton was born into wealth, accustomed to having her everything catered to without question. She was indulged and spoiled, accustomed to getting her way and doing as she pleased.

Extracting her wand from the pocket of her dress, she aimed it at the slumbering form of Theo, oblivious to his surroundings.

Theodore Nott, the boy whom Peyton had vowed never to become emotionally entangled with. He was a sharp-minded, handsome, tall man filled with both ambition and animosity, yet remarkably oblivious to many things.

Peyton could easily kill him. 

Or take his life away.

Eventually, she found herself needing to break that promise, and she knew she had to act swiftly. Hovering above him, Peyton once again adored his features closely.

It would be dishonest to deny that Theodore Nott possessed a striking handsomeness and masculine aura.

It's truly regrettable that such a fine-looking man met his end at such a young age, especially at the hands of a woman he believed had grown close to him.