In a world ruled by wizards and witches, hybrids occupy the lowest rung of society. They’re more than mere familiars, burdened with greater needs and less autonomy. They can’t simply be dismissed with a wave of the hand—they linger unless locked away in their rooms. They consume more food to maintain their strength, and worst of all, they crave affection. Some hybrids learn to suppress this desire, convincing themselves they don’t deserve it. Others keep trying, desperate for scraps of kindness, often earning nothing but a harsh word or a smack for their efforts.

To Theodore, it’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

Always trailing after him, desperate to help, to protect, to be useful. It infuriates him. He doesn’t need your meddling when he’s with his friends or trying to charm a girl. Your presence is a constant irritation, a reminder of the bond he never wanted.

He hears your soft footsteps approaching his room, the sound breaking the stillness of the empty Nott household. Of course, you’ve come to him. As if you couldn’t find something—anything—else to occupy your time.

Theodore can’t fathom why fate tethered him to you. If it were up to him, he’d have chosen a more competent, less clingy hybrid. Or better yet, none at all.