Chapter Text
Hermione hates driving.
If there is a way to avoid it, she is the person who’s going to find it. And it doesn’t matter if she has to pretend she’s drunk from breakfast mimosas at nine in the morning, fake a hip injury and limp for a week prior a road trip, or accidentally lose all three sets of her car keys.
But, unfortunately for her and anyone who has to get into a car with her, there are days when she has to drive. Going home for summer holidays is one of those rare occasions. Although home is a stretch—she doesn’t have a home anymore. Not the one she grew up in, with an olive tree in the garden and a rusty swing her father never bothered to repair.
All she has—the only place she can come back to after a long year at Cambridge University—is Graham Nott’s bloody mansion in southern England. She lived there for seven years, then she left for university. Nine years in total—nine years since her father left them and never looked back.
Nine years of living, or as she calls it, coexisting, with Graham Nott and his frustratingly attractive son Theodore. Despite their wealth, they’re surprisingly decent people, and she is happy her mum found someone who loves and respects her the way she deserves it. She knows it could be so much worse.
Both she and her mother have lived through much worse.
But it doesn’t automatically mean that Hermione feels comfortable at home. It’s massive and overwhelming and scary, because even though her step-brother offered many times, she never explored all of it. It’s called Nott Manor for a reason.
Hermione sighs, wrapping her fingers tighter around the wheel. She knows the way by heart but when all she can focus on is not crashing into the nearest tree, she relies on the built-in GPS system in her car. It tells her to turn right—a manoeuvre she absolutely despises—and for a second, she wonders what would happen if she never got home.
In the end, she takes the turn nonetheless. She is getting closer to home and the relatively peaceful area Graham Nott’s mansion is located in. It looks nothing like the rich neighbourhoods in American movies, with fences three times as tall as she is, and kilometres long driveways.
The house is big, but it’s not a castle.
Which is a pity, Hermione thinks.
The navigation indicates another turn in three hundred yards and Hermione prepares mentally for the family reunion that she’s not sure she’s in the mood for. She doesn’t mind her mum, of course, or Graham. They usually work for most of the time she’s at home anyway, which means they get to eat a few dinners together and maybe get away for a weekend or two.
It’s Theodore Nott who makes her dread the homecoming.
Her step-brother.
England’s golden boy. One of the best footballers in Europe. Since the Premier League season ended a few weeks ago, and the pre-season is due to begin in the middle of July, she knows he will be home.
She likes Theo—she always did.
And that’s the problem.
Because she doesn’t like him like a sister— step-sister , she corrects herself—should. She has a big, fat crush on him, and sometimes he acts like he knows but does nothing about it—either because he’s not interested, or he doesn’t want to embarrass her.
Theo is only three years older, but he treats her like a child, even though she is twenty-fucking-two. She supposes it’s easier this way for him, considering he always was this supportive and over-protective kind of a big brother.
He didn’t mind that his father had a new wife—and that she brought a teenage daughter into their world. He didn’t mind that Graham tasked him with making sure Hermione felt welcome and loved.
The problem? She feels a little too welcome.
As she takes the last turn before finally stopping her black Audi—her eighteenth birthday’s present from mum and Graham—she tells herself the summer won’t be that bad. Theo will be back to London in less than two weeks, and she won’t have to see him again until mid-August.
“You’ve got this, girl,” Hermione mutters to herself, imagining her best friend is there to cheer her, but her voice comes out flat and unconvincing. Well.
The first sign that something is wrong is the loud music she can hear before getting to the driveway of Nott’s Manor. Since it’s the only property on this street, she knows the latino beats are coming straight from the backside of her house. She turns her radio off and opens a window, and soon laughter and dozens of voices filter in.
Only then does she notice that her usual parking spot is taken—as are the rest of them—by a flashy, red car that definitely doesn’t belong to anyone in her family. Unless Theo got himself car number seven during the time she was driving all the way from Cambridge. It’s unlikely, but… not entirely impossible.
With a sigh, she drives around the house until she has a perfect view for the massive pool in the back—and the party that looks like it’s never going to end. Her tires screech as she scans the surroundings, looking for her brother.
It doesn’t take long to find him, even though there has to be more than fifty people hanging out by the pool; even more in the barbeque section stretching in the north part of the gardens. It never takes long to find him.
She opens her window all the way down, and whistles at him. A trick he taught her. “Nott!”
He’s confused at first, looking anywhere but at her, and it breaks her heart a little, but she swallows the bitterness down and stops the engine of her car. She quickly unfastens her seatbelt and walks out of the car, glad that she can finally stretch her legs—and escape the unfriendly environment of her Audi.
“Wait, babe,” Theo says with a chuckle that she can feel in her bones, sliding his hand out of the busty blonde’s bikini bottom that straddles his lap and pushes her tits into his face as he tries to get up. The girl sighs dramatically and looks over her shoulder, throwing daggers at Hermione when Theo finally shoves her off his lap. He palms her breasts and leans down to kiss the corner of her mouth before returning his focus to Hermione. “Apparently, no one bothered to inform me my baby sister was coming home today.”
Hermione bristles, sliding her sunglasses over her nose. She doesn’t like the way he calls her his baby sister . She’s neither a baby nor his sister, after all.
And he’s not ashamed she caught him finger-fucking a girl he probably doesn’t even know the name of. He’s not angry either, but as he prowls towards her, his jaw clenches and there’s this odd look on his face that she can’t decipher. His cheeks are flushed, surely for more than one reason, pupils blown wide—definitely for more than one reason to.
She forces herself not to look past his face, keeping her eyes fixed on his. She already knows he’s basically half-naked, and she’s afraid what finding him even remotely hard would do to her hormones.
“In my defence, my mum said they would be here—” she says in a way of greeting, fidgeting nervously, before a wide grin splits his beautiful face in half and he hauls her into his arms before she can finish the sentence.
He smells like beer and limes and his cheeks taste salty as she presses her lips to either of them with a smile that equals his. She wraps her legs around his waist and bites down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood when she realises her mistake.
The metallic taste fills her mouth as Theo’s erection presses against her mound. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, because he spins them around, laughing. “I thought you were coming next Friday,” he says, slightly out of breath, when they stop and he helps her to her feet. “Sorry for the party.”
He doesn’t sound sorry.
“Do you mind if I stay, or should I get a hotel—”
Theo snorts, ruffling her hair. But he’s dead serious when he turns to her again. “This is your home, Hermione. I just know you’re not a big fan of the guys staying here, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve got your own house in London, and yet you still try to wreck this beauty?”
“This beauty has a pool larger than half of my London house,” he shrugs. “It would be a shame to waste it, especially when the weather is so nice.”
“Mhm, of course.” Hermione hums. She doesn’t necessarily want to join this party, regardless of the promise of alcohol, fun, and sun, but it’s not like she can hide in the house for the whole week. Actually, scratch that. She could do that. But she has a better idea. “Sooo, is your best friend going to be at that party?”
The question catches Theo’s attention, his ocean blue eyes narrowing at her as if she just asked if he knows how to bury a body. “You know you are off-limits for the boys. They're going to use you and break your heart.” Theo reminds her, and her hand itches to slap him. She had heard this—and a million other—particular rule at least eight million times. No fucking around with my teammates. They know that if they touch you, they’ll lose a hand. “And no, Draco is not coming today.”
She doesn't believe that.
She believes, however, that her brother would lie to her to protect her from his asshole friend.
“What a pity,” she whines, giving Theo her best attempt at sad puppy eyes. “He's the only one not shitting his pants at the whole big-brother-alpha bullshit. I heard he’s still single. And I am single, so we could just help each other out—”
“Are there no boys at your university?" He snarls at her, somewhat resigned. "Footballers are no good men, baby sis.”
Oh, doesn’t she know that.
“Have you invited any other men, then?” She asks. Theo might not see her the way she sees him, but she knows it annoys him to hear about her sex life—even though he broadcasts his own as though it’s a bloody forecast. “I need to get laid before my mum and your dad come back.”
"Not happening."
She snorts at him and throws her hair over her elbow, smiling sheepishly. "Sure, Daddy."
"Do not fucking call me that."
A warning lamp lights in her head as Theo's harsh words hit their mark. Hermione, as usual, does her best to ignore it.
"Then stop acting like one."
He tightens his grip on her wrist and drags her in the opposite direction. Back to the house instead of the pool—which may be a good thing, considering she needs to take a shower and change her clothes anyway. “If I catch you fooling around with anyone at this party, little sister…” Theo warns, shoving her inside the house. His pupils are blolwn wide, and she doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol he consumed, or weed he smoked, but he’s different with her. He’s almost rough, pressing her against the wall and glaring at her like he sees her for the first time.
It’s intoxicating. His presence, his scent, his heated gaze. She licks her lips and glances up at him, never the one to shy from a challenge. “Then what, big brother? What will you do?”
Theo’s throat bobs, a few slutty strands of chocolate curls falling onto his forehead and temples. He lowers his eyes to her lips and lets out a long exhale. His voice is husky and an octave lower than usual, the baritone sending shivers down her spine. She knows he notices every single reaction of her body, even the smallest ones. “Don’t be a brat, Hermione.”
With a pout, she flattens her back against the cold wall, pushing her tits forward, congratulating herself for opting to go braless this morning. She might not be as lucky as the girl Theo had in his lap only a few minutes ago, but men go crazy when they see nipples peeking through any piece of clothing. And her step-brother is no exception.
His eyes darken like an ocean during a storm and it takes him a second too long to look away from her chest.
“Or what?” She presses, biting down on her lower lip. “You want me to be a good girl, then give me something to play with—”
In response, he slams both his hands on either side of her head, caging her between his strong arms. His sun-kissed skin is covered in endless patterns of black ink, and as she glances to the side, a jaw of a viper that wraps around his forearm stares back at her. On the other side, there is a collection of deadly flowers and plants—a testimony for his mother.
He’s closer that he has ever been to her—at least in such an intimate setting, that is. For a second, she thinks he might kiss her; and perhaps he thinks so too, but he pulls away before he can make that mistake.
“I’m sure you have plenty of toys to play with,” he purrs, and the suggestion is not lost on her. He doesn’t break eye contact when he peels one of his hands off the wall and brings his broad thumb to her mouth, tugging at the lower lip. He lets out a dark chuckle. “Good girls don’t pout.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be a good girl anymore,” she whispers so quietly she wonders if he can hear her. “Maybe I need a bigger toy…”
Something crosses his features, a certain kind of hunger—one she knows so well. But as much as she enjoys teasing her step-brother, she is not brave enough to make the first move with him. Even though it’s obvious now that he wants something from her.
He drags his thumb from her mouth to her chin, then down the column of her throat, stopping short at the v-neck of her yellow dress. Her chest is heaving and Theo looks like he’s at odds with himself, his expression a fascinating combination of lust and disgust.
Hermione decides to break the moment before he breaks her —with his touch, or his words, she’s not sure what would come first. With a small smile, she rises to her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his cheek before ducking under his arm.
“Where are you going?” He calls after her, pivoting on his heel.
“To my room. I need a shower and a change of clothes,” she points to her crumpled dress. “This doesn’t look like a proper outfit for a pool party, does it?”
Theo rakes a hand through his hair before his eyes zero on her face again. “I meant what I said about hooking up with the boys. If I catch you with any of them, little sister, I will lock you in your fucking room for the next week.”
"Ah, like a princess imprisoned in the tower by big, bad dragon?" Hermione giggles, enjoying the distress she puts her brother through. And even though there's no one around, she drops her voice to a conspiratioral whisper. "Do you know that Draco's name literally means dragon—"
"Granger." He snarls in warning, his teeth clenched, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
He never calls her by her last name.
Which means she really got under his skin.
She winks at him and blows him another kiss. “Don’t worry, Theo. As you said, you have your toys and I have mine,” she pauses for a second, waiting for the words to register. He’s so shocked that someone—even if it’s his sister—rejected him that he cannot speak. “Go back to yours before she finds someone else to entertain.”
After a very long shower and staring at the ceiling in her bedroom for good forty-five minutes being dressed only in a white fluffy towel, Hermione decides it’s time to be a brat, even though that’s exactly what Theo told her not to do.
Luckily, when she was in the bathroom, her brother or one of his friends, brought all her suitcases from the car and left them at her door.
She drags them in, one by one, thankful that she packed relatively light. She’s supposed to stay at the Nott Manor for the entire summer holiday, but since it is technically her house and her room, there’s plenty of clothes in the walk-in wardrobe.
But today she wants to scandalise her brother a little. If he thinks she’s going to play by his rules just because he’s a few years older, he can go fuck himself. He wants her, she wants him—and if she can’t hook up with his friends, she’s going to make him want to hook up with her.
Or something like that.
She looks at her reflection in the mirror one last time, the pads of her fingers tracing the red ink staining her skin, and readjusts the one-piece swimsuit before pulling a beach kimono over her head. No, she doesn’t look like most of the girls at this party, but she doesn’t consider herself worse just because her tits are smaller, or her legs are shorter.
And she’s going to make sure Theo notices her too.
Theo does not, in fact, notice her.
Or, he does, but he also does everything in his power to ignore her. He looks away whenever their eyes meet, then he pretends he’s busy playing beer pong or talking to the boys when she approaches. And when none of his ideas seem to work anymore, he pulls two beautiful girls on his lap and tips his head toward the sky when they kiss his throat—and lower.
It’s quite late when he gives her the show, and Hermione’s head is pleasantly fizzy from the cocktails and shots she’s been drinking all afternoon. She tries to ignore him, dancing with some of the girls and boys, then going as far as to drink tequila shots from one of the girl's tits, but even that doesn’t seem to be worth Theo’s attention.
Well.
She quickly texts Theo’s best friend, Draco Malfoy, blaming him for not coming to the disaster of a party. Draco is a capital A arsehole, but for some weird reason they get on well together. Hermione likes to tease Theo mercilessly about having a crush on him—which might have been true once, a lifetime ago—but in fact, they’re simply good friends. Not that Theo has to know that.
He invites her to the town’s club tomorrow instead, and that’s how Hermione finds out the boys are going out the next day. And when she fills Draco in on her devious plan later, he agrees to help—albeit reluctantly. She reminds him that sometimes you need to cross a line, or two, to get what you want. His own words.
“Quite a show, isn’t it?” A low and moderately amused voice says somewhere behind her, and it takes a moment to realise that someone is talking to her. She turns around, a beer in her hand, and her gaze locks with a green-eyed man. Then, she raises an eyebrow in question, not quite sure what he means. “Your brother and the two—oh, sorry—three girls.”
Hermione grits her teeth and it takes everything in her to not look at Theo again. But she’s almost sure she’s going to find him smirking at her if she does. So, instead, she fully turns to her companion and graces him with the most dashing smile. “Harry James Potter, what a lovely surprise.” She winks, raking an eye over him. “Where’s your boyfriend these days?”
He winks back, opening his arms and crushing her in a bear hug. “He’s in Cornwall with his father. Hiking, or something.”
“Ew,” she grimaces and smiles again.
Harry releases her from his arms and pours himself a glass of wine. “I didn’t know you were going to be here. Nott always gatekeeps you from the team.”
“Oh, he still does that,” she says with a fake sigh. “I actually didn’t know I was coming home to a one big frat house. My mum forgot to mention a trip to Greece, so… here I am, moping by the pool because everyone’s afraid to touch Nott’s little sister.”
“I say fuck it.”
Hermione frowns. She knows Harry is direct, and doesn’t really play by her brother’s rules—or anyone’s rules, really, but he is usually the voice of reason. The angel on her shoulder, with Draco Malfoy being the devil.
“Pardon me?”
Harry grins, gesturing to a small group of men hanging by the barbeque. “They’re all single and not from our team,” he says, listing their names one by one, even though all Hermione can focus on is the sight to her left. One of the girls is licking liquor off Theo’s chest, the other two are still perched on his lap, but his eyes are on her. He wants her to see that; wants her to be mad. But does he realise how far she is willing to go to return the favour? “Take your pick.”
Her brother shakes his head as though he can hear what Harry says, and she flips him before returning her focus to Potter and the single men who are not sons of her mum’s new husband. And sure, they are all hot and nice to look at, but they’re not what she wants—not who she needs.
She huffs under her breath. “You know what, Harry? I’ve already chosen.”
His bushy eyebrows rise high. “Oh yeah? Who’s the lucky one?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.” Hermione takes one, two, three more sips of her beer and deposits the bottle in the trash can. The glass shatters loudly, but her heart beats louder. She has a plan now, a bloody good plan. She might not have three men on her knees for her, but she is going to make sure her brother goes to bed almost as frustrated as she is. “I gotta go. Catch up with you tomorrow?”
She doesn’t wait for Harry’s response as she sprints back to the house.
It takes Theo much longer to come back to his bedroom than she thought it would. In fact, when the clock strikes two in the morning, she doesn’t expect him to come at all. Perhaps he’s still outside, not giving a single fuck that a hundred people can see him make out—or worse—with three girls at the sime time.
Or maybe he’s in one of the guest rooms. She knows that he doesn’t really like to bring casual hookups to his room, and since he has never had a girlfriend in his life, perhaps her plan is not as bulletproof as she thought.
Hermione shifts on his queen size bed, crisp bedsheets rustling under her half-naked body as she considers gathering her things and running back to her own bedroom. She toys with the purple dildo she brought with her and sets it back on Theo’s nightstand before something stupid comes to her mind.
And then she hears footsteps—three or four pairs—and giggles just outside the bedroom door. Then, her brother hushes the girls and tries to find the keyhole with a muffled curse. Hermione has approximately ten seconds to pretend she’s asleep, so she quickly turns off the bedside lamp, locks her phone and rolls over to her stomach, kicking the sheets off her body.
She doesn’t mind if these three random girls will see her arse.
She makes sure her hair covers the side of her face, so that her expressions don’t betray her, and a second or two later, the lock clicks and the doors open. No one says anything for a good minute, but someone is definitely kissing—passionately judging by the sounds of it.
And then—
“What the fuck,” Theo hisses and Hermione can’t help but smile. “This is—”
“You have another chick waiting for you?” One of the girls asks, accusation dripping from her all-too-sweet voice.
Another joins in. “You said you don’t let anyone wear your jerseys.”
Bingo.
Theo groans in frustration and she can imagine his expression to the iota. “That’s not—” he lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s my little sister!”
Oh, Theodore. This is such a bad thing to say.
She’s not sure which of the girls is speaking, but it sounds like the other two are already out of the room. “Dude, that is so fucked up.” Her words are laced with an undertone of disgust. “For your own sake, I hope she’s at least legal.”
“She’s twenty-two,” he whisper-yells. “And she’s not my real—”
“Save it. We’re leaving.”
The door shut behind the last girl, and apparently even Theodore Nott isn’t stupid enough to chase after them, especially after practically admitting to fucking his own sister. And although she didn’t think about it before—she really didn’t think at all—she hopes they won’t sell the story to the press.
The Daily Mail would never forget.
As Theo paces his room, Hermione thinks of coming clean, or at least letting him know she’s not asleep anymore, but she’s not sure she is brave enough to deal with him right now. She knows he’s angry even without looking or talking to him, and even though she trusts him with his life, perhaps testing his patience at a moment like this is not the smartest idea.
He walks to the bathroom, splashes his face with water twice, and then comes back to the bedroom. She keeps her eyes half-closed, because even with her hair shielding her face, she’s scared he’s going to realise she’s not asleep.
With heat coiling in her core, she watches him strip from the swim trunks before he pulls on a clean pair of underwear. Thank fucking god he’s not naked. But—he’s not going to sleep here, is he?
“What are you playing at, Granger?” He asks, his voice hushed, and it nearly makes her jump—before she realises he’s not really talking to her. The mattress dips under his weight and he gently manoeuvres her to the other side of the bed, covering her with a sheet. “Did you fuck yourself with that toy thinking of me, little sis?”
His tone is teasing, almost cruel, and yet it takes everything in her to remain silent. She wants him to think about everything she could have been doing with the dildo. She wants him to fucking lose it.
He tucks a curl behind her ear, his touch at odds with his mood. It’s gentle and sweet and everything she doesn’t expect him to be. “I bet you did, you filthy little slut.”
She almost loses it, here and now, but Theo pulls away and quietly opens the drawer in his nightstand, depositing her dildo inside. Or at least that’s what it sounds like. She can’t open her eyes to check what he’s doing, but the telltale rattling doesn’t sound good.
The drawer closes again, and Theo mutters a string of curses under his breath, then rips the sheet he had just tossed onto her body, tossing it away. She shudders, shifting slightly on the bed, but keeps up with her ruse. He cannot know she’s awake.
He moves too, as if he can’t find a place for himself, and when she doesn’t bristle again, he bends one of her legs—the one closest to him—spreading them as wide as possible without waking her. “You fucking tease,” he groans, and suddenly the tip of his finger is between her thighs, a featherlight touch if anything, but to her it feels monumental. “Wearing those flimsy knickers so your brother can have a better view at your pussy? And my name on your back?” If she were awake, she would tell him she’s technically a Nott, too. Alas, she can’t. “I’d fuck you three times into Sunday if I could, you know? I'd tie you to this bed and lick your cunt, watching you weep for me." His thumb presses lightly at her clit, the muscles in her thighs spasming from the tension. Theo chuckles darkly. "God, you're a whore even when you sleep, aren't you? Squirming and I'm hardly even touching you... I’d make you scream my name until you can’t speak anymore, and then some more.”
Hermione bites down on her tongue before she makes some noise—any noise that makes Theo realise she’s not asleep. She doesn’t know him like this—rough and cruel and so… dominant? Possessive? Confident? He’s a sweetheart, the country’s golden boy, the most adorable older brother and a perfect son.
But she vaguely recalls Draco’s stories about her brother and his conquest. She always thought they were exaggerated, that perhaps Theo told Draco to scare her away, or make sure she knew he was not as nice as everyone made him to be.
She didn’t believe them then.
She does now.
“It’s so unfortunate that you are my sister.” He’s closer to her now, close enough that his hot breath fanns her cheek. He smells like alcohol and mouthwash and all she wants is to taste him on her tongue. To feel him against her skin. Theo chuckles darkly, as if he can read her thoughts, and leans lower, his mouth hovering over her ear. “It’s so unfortunate that I can’t punish you for being a slut and flashing your tits for the boys all day,” he hooks his thumb under the seam of her knickers and tugs gently. It wouldn't take much for the fabric to snap. “So unfortunate I can’t punish you for ruining my night the way I want to.”
Then he pulls away.
She nearly squirms.
He doesn’t say anything for a very long while; doesn’t move either. Hermione thinks he might be asleep, or at least choosing to be angry in silence, when he opens something—a plastic bottle, and shits on the bed with a sigh.
His breathing becomes heavier, and the mattress shifts with every move—every stroke—of his arm.
Oh, God.
Is he—
No, that’s impossible.
He wouldn’t do this with her sleeping next to him. But his movements prove her wrong. He’s not being careless at all, as though he doesn’t care if she wakes or not. As though her presence means nothing.
“I think I’ll paint your arse white with my cum, little sis,” he groans, his hand moving faster, faster, faster. He spits on his palm, or his cock, she can’t be sure, but the noise makes her thighs clench. She thanks herself for turning the lights off before Theo returned, because he could definitely see the damp spot on her knickers if she didn’t. “That will teach you a lesson, huh?”
She doesn't even know what he’s talking about anymore. All she can hear are those soft moans muffled by a hand on his mouth, and groans coming from the very bottom of his chest. The sounds his hand makes as he strokes his cock are obscene—wet and so arousing Hermione wonders if she can come just from listening to him jerk off.
More curses, some less coherent than the others, spill from his mouth, and she’s sure he calls her a whore and a shameless slut a couple more times before he stills on the bed, exhaling through his clenched teeth. She shouldn’t enjoy the slurs, the degrading tone he never uses on her, and yet heat spreads from her core to the rest of her body, setting every fibre on fire.
A few seconds later, something hot hits the bare skin on her back, and she fists the pillow under her head, biting down on her tongue.
Theo is panting, the musky smell of sex and his cum mingling with the air in the room, making her even more dizzy than all the drinks she had earlier. Her heart thrashes in her chest and she hopes, really hopes, he can’t hear it.
She wants to taste him, God, she wants it so much it hurts.
After a while, Theo opens his drawer again, takes something out, then closes it again.
A minute later, the mattress groans and she thinks he’s going to leave—that he’s leaving her covered in his spend. She opens her mouth to scream, even if deep down she is not opposed to the idea of being used, but then Theo tosses the sheet over them and finally sleeps.
It doesn’t take much longer for sleep to find her too, despite the anxiousness stewing in her gut at the mere thought of the confrontation awaiting in the morning.
She might be a brat, but she only now realises that Theodore Nott knows exactly how to deal with that type. And she’s not sure what to do with that knowledge.