Archive of Our Own ^beta

Art by @bella.in.words

Theodore Nott was having what he liked to call a post-genius morning.

Croissant, black coffee and a general sense that the world should thank him more often.

He was halfway through humming an off-key reprise of Can you feel the love tonight, when his office door burst open.

Hermione Granger stormed in, folder in hand and the look of someone regretting several life decisions.

He didn’t even look up.
“If this is about the rose petals again, I insist that they were thematically appropriate.”

“This isn’t about that,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “It’s about Ginny.”

Theo blinked. “Weasley?”

“Yes. Ginny Weasley.”

“The fiery one? Former Quidditch star? Tendency to hex first, ask later?”

“That’s the one.”

He grinned. “Continue.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Look, you were… effective with Blaise.”

Theo placed a hand over his heart. “You’re welcome.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Still taking it as one.”

She sighed. “Anyway. Ginny’s been corresponding with Viktor Krum again.”

Theo perked up like a Kneazle spotting a canary. “The brooding Bulgarian! Excellent taste.”

“Don’t start,” she warned.
“They clearly still care about each other, but neither will make a move. She pretends she’s moved on, he writes vague letters asking about her… it’s ridiculous.”

Theo leaned back, crossing his fingers in a conspiratorial manner. “And you’ve come to me.”

“Merlin help me, yes.”

A slow, delighted smile spread across his face. “So you want me to meddle.”

“I want you to… nudge.”

He nodded sagely. “A soft kidnapping. Emotional coercion with a romantic motif.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “I am not hearing those words.”

Theo was already scribbling on a notepad. “Don’t worry, Granger. You’ll have plausible deniability.”

“Just… make it subtle.”

Theo looked genuinely confused. “Define subtle.”

Hermione groaned. “Never mind. Just… try not to sing this time.”

She stared. He stared back.

“Right,” she said finally. “Forget I asked.”

Preparations, according to Theo, were an art form.

A forged Ministry memo:

“MANDATORY QUIDDITCH STRATEGY SUMMIT – Attendance Required for International Outreach and Team Synergy.”

Two invitations: one for Ginny Weasley, one for Viktor Krum.

Delivered by owl, sealed with the Department of Magical Sports crest (and just a whisper of Amortentia-scented wax).

A magically enhanced stadium, borrowed under false pretences (“team-building exercise,” he’d said to the groundskeeper).

And finally, the pièce de résistance: an enchanted commentator’s system that would transmit Theo’s voice directly across the pitch.

He tested it once, grinning.
“Welcome, competitors, to the most romantic match of your lives.”

Perfect. Just perfect.

Victor hadn’t planned to write her again.

But after his last match in Sofia, he found himself pulling parchment toward him.

He wrote about Quidditch, the weather, the new broom design he disliked.

He never meant to send it.

But old habits and faster owls, betrayed him.

When the invitation came, sealed with the Ministry’s crest, he almost didn’t go.

A “Quidditch Strategy Summit,” it said.

He didn’t recall agreeing to one. But the handwriting on the note… it was Hermione’s.

That, at least, he trusted.

He packed a broom, a fresh shirt, and told himself he was going for professional reasons. He didn’t believe it for a second.

A Week Later – The Chudley Cannons Practice Pitch

Ginny Weasley was suspicious from the moment she arrived.

The pitch was empty.

No officials, no team, just her name on a clipboard and a single broom hovering mid-air like it was waiting for her.

She squinted. “If this is some kind of publicity stunt, I’m hexing someone.”

A low voice, warm and accented, came from behind her.

“If you are hexing, I should probably duck, yes?”

She turned.

Viktor Krum stood there, his hair was ruffled by the wind and his dark eyes amused.

He was broader now, older, but that same half-smile lingered.

“Viktor?”

He nodded. “Hermione said you vould be here.”

Ginny frowned. “Did she? Because she told me this was a strategy meeting.”

He tilted his head. “Then it seems we have both been lied to.”

Before either could process that, the gates clanged shut with a decisive BANG.

A voice… smooth, smug, and far too pleased with itself, boomed from the enchanted loudspeakers.

“Welcome, athletes! Today’s exercise is called Team Bonding Through Trust and Mild Suffering. No bludgers were harmed in the making of this simulation.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Theodore Nott?”

“Ah,” Viktor said dryly, “you know him too.”

“Unfortunately.”

Banners unfurled from nowhere, shimmering across the stands:
LOVE IS A FULL-CONTACT SPORT.

Theo’s voice continued, chipper as ever.

“You may notice the exit has sealed itself. That’s perfectly normal! You’ll be released once you demonstrate… synergy.”

“Synergy?” Ginny repeated. “He’s joking.”

Viktor tested the door. It did not budge.
“He is not joking.”

Round One: The Trust Exercise

Two brooms hovered in mid-air.

Theo’s voice:

“Simple task! Take a lap around the pitch, holding hands. Brooms won’t lift otherwise.”

Ginny folded her arms. “Absolutely not.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Then we stay here forever?”

She groaned, grabbed his hand, and the brooms shot into the air like fireworks.

“Bloody hell!” she yelped as they wobbled, nearly colliding.

“Relax,” Viktor murmured, steadying them both.

His hand was large, warm. She tried not to notice.

Her eyes flicked to him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

They circled the pitch, wind tangling her hair.

Somewhere below, Theo’s voice narrated like a bad sports commentator:

“Look at that chemistry! Textbook teamwork! Someone alert Witch Weekly!”

Ginny shouted down, “I’m going to murder you, Nott!”

Her broom immediately dipped, forcing her closer to Viktor.

Theo’s disembodied voice sighed happily.

“Ah, love in the air. Quite literally.”

Victor looked at her and remembered.

He had kissed her once, years ago.

After a Quidditch charitable game, behind the pitch where no one could see.

He still remembered the smell of frost lawn, the tremor in her hands when she’d said, “You’re nicer than I thought.”

He never stopped hearing it.

Now here she was, inches away, still as fierce, still as bright, and his heart had the audacity to hope.

Round Two: The Snitch of Truth

A golden flash darted across the pitch.

“New challenge!” Theo announced. “Catch the Snitch, reveal a truth. Don’t question the magic, just embrace it.”

Ginny, competitive instincts firing, dove after it.

The Snitch zipped teasingly between her fingers, then —click—snapped open like a tiny music box.

A voice (Theo’s, again, somehow worse):

“Confession time! Ginny Weasley, tell us who you think of when you can’t sleep.”

Her broom lurched to a halt mid-air. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding—”

“Answer required!” the Snitch chimed.

Ginny’s face flamed. “Fine! Viktor bloody Krum, all right?”

The Snitch whistled, satisfied, and exploded into heart-shaped confetti.

Viktor nearly dropped his broom. “You—vhat?”

“Don’t make it weird,” she said quickly. “It’s just a crush. From Hogwarts. It doesn’t—”

He caught her hand again, gently. “Maybe it does.”

For a moment, the world stilled—just the wind, the faint rustle of petals, and the look in his eyes, searching hers.

Then Theo’s voice shattered it:

“Excellent progress, you two! Sparks are flying—literally! That was my spellwork, by the way.”

Both groaned in unison.

Round Three: The Locker-Room Trap

When they finally landed, sweaty and wind-tossed, Ginny made a beeline for the changing room.

Steam filled the air, thick and perfumed with rose oil.

Theo’s voice again, far too pleased:

“Final exercise: cool down. Talk it out. Exit will open once emotional vulnerability has been achieved.”

Ginny froze. “I hate him.”

Viktor—appearing behind her, hair damp, expression deadpan—sighed. “He means vell.”

She turned, eyes narrowing. “You followed me?”

He shrugged. “Door vas open. Now it is not.”

Ginny groaned, tugging at the handle. “Of course. Magical imprisonment… very romantic.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you agree!” Theo’s voice chirped from nowhere. “I was worried the rose-scented steam was too subtle.”

“Subtle?” Ginny barked a laugh. “You call this subtle? Unbelievable,” she muttered. “I should’ve known Hermione was in on this.”

Theo gasped audibly.

“Excuse you! Granger is merely an innocent commissioner. I’m the artistic visionary.”

She glared at the ceiling. “Theo, I will end you.”

“Language! There are impressionable harps nearby.”

Indeed, a harp in the corner gave a prim twang as if agreeing.

Ginny dragged a hand down her face. “Brilliant. I’m trapped in an overly perfumed room with the Bulgarian National Treasure and a ghost of a lunatic.”

Viktor smirked. “You flatter me.”

She shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I did not.”

“You’re thinking about starting.”

He tilted his head, grinning. “You know me vell.”

Theo sniffled theatrically through the speakers.

“My god, the chemistry. It’s palpable. I feel like Timon watching Simba fall in love.”

Ginny blinked. “Who the hell is Timon?”

Viktor frowned. “He is… meerkat?”

“Correct!” Theo cried. “And now… cue the music!”

Suddenly, a faintly off-key instrumental filled the locker room.

“Can you feel… the love… tonight…”

Theo sang, painfully earnest, complete with animal impressions.

“It is where we are! It’s enough, for this wide-eyed witch and her Quidditch star…”

“THEO!” Ginny yelled.

Viktor was laughing so hard he had to sit down. “He has… good pitch.”

“He does not!”

“Shh, don’t ruin the bridge, it’s coming—” Theo continued, mimicking Pumbaa’s voice horrifically:

“And if he falls… in love tonight… it can be assumed…”

Ginny shouted, “I will assume your funeral is tomorrow!”

Theo’s voice wobbled, breaking character.

“Wow. Mood killer. Elton would be disappointed.”

Viktor, still grinning, wiped tears from his eyes. “You are angry, but you are smiling.”

“I am not!”

“You are.”

“I’m plotting murder.”

He leaned closer. “Maybe after.”

Her eyes flicked up, catching his. “You’re impossible.”

“Da,” he said softly, “but you came anyway.”

That shut her up.

The steam shimmered around them, and the tension shifted… still playful, but charged.

Theo’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper:

“Ohhhh they’re looking at each other… this is the part where Pumbaa and I cry.”

Ginny rolled her eyes but didn’t look away from Viktor. “I swear, if you kiss me, he’ll never shut up about it.”

Viktor smiled faintly. “Then let him sing forever.”

And when he kissed her, all the years between them collapsed into one breath…Theo let out a strangled sob over the speakers.

“OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENING—PUMBAA, LOOK AT THEM—”

Rose petals exploded from the ceiling like fireworks.

Ginny broke the kiss long enough to shout, “THEO, TURN IT OFF! THERE IS NO PUMBAA.”

“Sorry, lovebirds, artistic integrity requires a full number!”

The harp struck a triumphant chord.

Theo belted the final line with his whole chest:

“Love is where they areeeeeeee!”

Viktor groaned into her hair. “This is psychological torture.”

Ginny snorted, breathless with laughter. “Worth it?”

He smiled against her temple. “Da.”

“Worth it,” Theo repeated fondly, his voice echoing through the room like a proud mother. “My work here is done.”

A pause. Then, quietly to himself…

"Now, where did I put the glitter cannon…”

Epilogue – From the Desk of Theodore Nott

Well, well, well. Another happy couple.

Yes, dear readers, Ginny Weasley, fiery former Chaser, and Viktor Krum, international star, have officially been spotted holding hands at the Leaky Cauldron.

Do they deny my involvement? Absolutely.
Do they blush when someone says “team synergy”? Also absolutely.

Hermione owes me lunch.

Viktor owes me an autographed broom.

Ginny owes me a restraining order (which I will frame).

And as for what’s next?

Well… I hear that another Weasley has been spending a suspicious amount of time with the one and only Miss Pansy Parkinson.

Just saying.

Sincerely,
Theodore Nott
Matchmaker Extraordinaire
Still undefeated.

✗♡✗♡