When I was little, fandom spaces were everything to me. I consumed fanfiction, and the interactions between authors and readers were something I coveted at that rather lonely age. I had no idea just how deep fandom culture went, having only joined social media in my later teen years and actually getting a Tumblr account during COVID. I was an A-grade lurker, and never imagined I'd ever be one of the voices interacting with fandom, least of all making friends.
In my short stint actually putting my work out there, I've made so many incredible friends and been exposed to so many life experiences, stories, and cultures. The one unifying thing is how deeply kind everyone has been.
So, I've been wanting to make this post for a while. My favorite people, artists, writers, and new faces that keep the fandom going.
I am honored that there is a lot of overlap between incredible fic writers and friends of mine, so I'll focus on their writing. If I start talking about their qualities, this will be a much longer post.
Authors who are new/ I don't see hyped enough, who write absolute underrated bangers: @rambling-tam, @anominym @ravenwind-75 @elisalsaa @seb-in-the-shadows, @rosewoodcafe @amethystandemma, @fanfiction-she-wrote @spookybriecheese @sharlotscarletfox, @rypnami, @libellule-ao3 @butternutt613 (MY BELOVEDDD), Bree (who wrote Kindred, Legacy, and Yearning) and this one writer on tumblr who wrote an absolutely FIRE fic of Ominis, MC, and Sebastian in the scriptorium. I remember commenting on their fic and asking to be put on a taglist BUT I CAN'T FIND IT RAHHH (EDIT: IT'S @cafechichay !!!) I am going to keep adding to this list, trust. Also @shyamanuensis of COURSE <3
Fandom fav fic writers that I will never stop yelling about: @sallowskeeper @galaxiasgreen @lyworth, @myokk (also a wonderful artist)
Incredible Artists: @okeydokeylackey @heylorrain (who also writes absolutely gut-wrenching, beautiful fics- including her under art because her comms are open), @syrooo @stein0806, @eggzeroni, @speedysart (who also has a wonderful MC) @tabatadraft, @tamayula-hl, @kleinundscharf, @sebentinuminis, @chainsawg
Screenies: @smilenewfifthyear
And very special shoutout to people who engage with fics even if you don't write yourself. Every like, comment, and reblog means a lot to me, and I love ya'll. ( @frogunderthesink I see you liking my posts heheheh ily and @all-4-ominis as well! Also, @mrsluffy07 hand over ur masterlist pls)
Anyway. A lot of the people here I have the special honor of calling friends, and I wanted you all to know how much you guys mean to me. And, I'm always open to making new friends and yapping about anything under the sun tbh. This fandom is lovely, and I didn't realize what a beautiful space I entered when I started engaging with it.
My favorite concept for fanfic that spawned from character AI (I’m sorry I don’t have a screen cap because my phone and my iPad aren’t synced because I have way too many photos) is when you mention Harry Potter to Mattheo he becomes incensed with jealousy.
Like he literately called him a “Golden Boy” and a “Gryffindork.”
Female characters who are the sole voice of reason <<<<<<< Female characters who think of themselves as the sole voice of reason but who are actually just as insane as those around them
Word Count - 19534 [2 to 3 hours of reading time - depending]
Content Warning - Slow burn Angst, Unrequited love, Pining!Reader, Being taken for granted, google-translated italian and french (i am an asian woman, i don’t know a lick of french)
Summary - Loving someone they way you want to be loved, doesn't always mean you will be loved the same way back
A.N. - Writing this whenever I got the chance (which also the same days that I don't speak a word of English). Thanks to ChatGPT for making this readable. Also dividers by @firefly-graphics <3
Poll Results: Literally everyone said to post this "now" (as in 4 days ago "now") but I ended up working 38 hours at my part-time since then so I apologise. Also this was also redrafted about 7 times because I wanted a realistic ending.
Enjoy! <3 (commenting and reblogging feeds the writing gremlin)
Wizards slowly began adopting Muggle holidays sometime around the 18th century. Those living in London found themselves enjoying each little tradition, each celebration the Muggles offered.
Valentine’s Day was one of the latest fads in the British-wizarding forums. Some had said a big-time French socialite had apparently introduced the tradition to his British amour, and since then, the excitement spread through the grapevine. From gifting beautiful, forever-blooming flowers to your beloved, to others frantically checking their Chocolate Frogs were not spiked with Amortentia — young wizards started basking in the celebration of young love (or platonic love for some).
Everyone, except you.
Classmates, dorm mates, and even your own best friends — Joycelin Sweeting and Astoria Greengrass — were ecstatic over the festivities. They had dragged you each weekend leading up to the big day to Hogsmeade and even trekked up to Diagon Alley for the perfect presents for their other halves. You were happy for them.
Truly.
They both had that beautiful twinkle in their eyes — and even though they were the most bubbly, fun-loving duo, you were almost 100% sure that their pupils turned into literal love hearts around their respective partners. Their hair was always curly or wavy (you had read in some book in the library that the magic surrounding a girl in love made their hair wavy for some reason), and their cheeks ached and flushed red with blush. You promised you were happy for them.
You had promised you were fine, telling Astoria to go on her date and reassuring Joycelin that you had more than enough on your plate. (That was a lie.)
The sun had barely risen but the time you sat in the Great Hall, the low chatter of students around you creating a hum that felt more distant than comforting. The flickering candles overhead cast shadows that danced lazily across the table, but you could not focus on the warmth. You felt the coldness inside you, a familiar emptiness that had settled in your chest ever since things had started to change. You could not help feeling sorry for yourself. Sitting here, on the morning of Valentine’s Day, seemingly the only student sitting alone. The dining hall was already quiet as it was, with many students opting for more romantic settings.
Your eyes flickered to the Slytherin table, your gaze inevitably falling on Theodore. He was there, of course, just like he always was, wrapped up in the world he had created around himself. The world that no longer seemed to have much space for you.
You could feel the ache settle into your bones, a quiet reminder of everything that had gone wrong—or seemingly, what seem to have disappeared over the winter break. It was not that he did not notice you; it was that he seemed to look through you these days. Every time you tried to get close, tried to bridge the growing chasm between the two of you, he had backed away, like you were not worth the effort.
And that was it. You were not worth the effort.
Theodore’s eyes did not meet yours now, and you were not sure if it was out of avoidance or simple disinterest. He had the same nonchalant air about him, speaking to the people around him in a tone that was not sharp, but cold enough to make you feel it in your gut. His friends, his fellow Slytherins, hung on the few words he said, laughing and teasing with ease. They did not know the quiet pain you felt just from being in the same room with him.
You turned your attention back to your plate, pushing food around without really touching it. The silence between you and him had become more deafening with each passing day. You tried to ignore it, to accept that it was what it was, but that did not stop the small part of you, the part that still hoped, from holding on.
A sharp pang of disappointment twisted in your chest as you watched a few girls from the other end of the table approach Theodore. Their laughter rang in the air, a sound that was light and carefree, like the weight of everything was irrelevant. You knew how they looked at him. You had seen it before. He was everything they admired—charming in a nonchalant type of way, and, for every reason you had been drawn to him in the first place, they couldn’t get enough of him.
A wave of frustration washed over you. You wanted to get up, leave this place where you felt so invisible, but the more you tried to retreat into yourself, the more desperate you were for Theodore to reach out for you.
But just as you were about to turn back to your breakfast, a voice broke through the quiet hum of the hall, this one different — more polite and genuinely warm.
Theodore was halfway through taking a bite of his toast when a voice rang out, light and sweet, carrying through the quiet of the hall, uninvited and unwelcome. “Theo, you are coming to the party tonight, aren’t you?”
The girl who spoke was one of those faces you often saw in the Slytherin corridor but never paid much attention to. A pleasant sort of girl, pretty enough, but always with a crowd. She had the kind of attention that came effortlessly, like a polished stone that had been smoothed by years of admiration. Her soft blonde curls bounced around her face as she leaned toward Theodore, her eyes wide with the warmth of something unfamiliar to you, something that felt a little too bright, too alive.
Her voice, though melodic, carried a subtle undertone of expectation. “It’s going to be fun,” she added with a smile, drawing the words out as though she was fishing for an answer. She did not care about the casualness of the conversation; she knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingers brushed lightly against Theodore’s sleeve as she spoke, and you could almost see the way her confidence bloomed in the space between them, wrapping around him as if they were already connected.
Theodore looked up slowly, his gaze flicking toward her, but the moment his eyes met hers, he seemed to settle into a practiced nonchalance. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was not the kind that reached his eyes. He gave a slight nod, still not meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he replied, his voice cool and flat, the same as it always was these days. Detached.
The girl beamed, as if the words were all she had wanted, but before she turned to go, she finally, almost reluctantly, glanced your way. Her eyes lingered on you for the briefest moment, as if she just remembered you were there, as if you had somehow faded into the background of the conversation she had been having with Theodore. It was not an unkind look, just distant — as though acknowledging your presence now was an afterthought.
“Oh,” she said, the pitch of her voice softening just a touch. “What about...” She slowly turned her head to your table. Her smile was kind, but it lacked warmth, like a perfunctory gesture more than a genuine inquiry.
You blinked, suddenly aware of the space between you and Theodore. The hall became so much larger than you had imagined, yet feeling narrower and overwhelming at the same time. You wanted him to say yes—better yet, walk down that endless hall to ask for your opinion. But you were also terrified. You did not want to admit that the very thought of being around people, of pretending to be something you were not, made your chest tighten. At this point, there was no telling what kind of relationship existed between you both. Your thoughts were swarming you these past couple of weeks— with one that had been quietly overcoming your mind for weeks, months now. You wanted to be seen— wanted to be wanted, even if just for a fleeting moment.
But before you could speak, Theodore’s voice cut through the tension, his words sharper than usual. “You know her,” he said, his tone distant and dismissive, “she’s not really a party person.”
And just like that, the words sank into your skin, prickling with discomfort. It was not a lie, not exactly, but it felt wrong. There was a bitter edge to it, something unspoken that settled over the dining hall like a growing storm. You were not a party person, no. But that was not the real reason you’d rather stay away. The truth was more complicated, more suffocating, and Theodore was too busy with his own distractions to notice.
The girl smiled again, this time with a hint of pity that stung more than it comforted. “I see,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer, almost apologetic, but you could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips. “I mean, no matter- we can always have fun for her. Right?”
She turned on her heel, slipping into the crowd of students with ease, leaving you in the quiet bubble of awkwardness that you had somehow found yourself in. The weight of his dismissal hung heavy in the air, suffocating you, even though he was not looking at you. His focus had already shifted to his friends, already lost in the rhythm of the day, and you felt the distance between you grow even wider.
You could not help but glance at him again, watching him talk to the group of Slytherins across the table, his face set in a way that looked practiced, familiar. His eyes never once flickered toward you. The indifference stung more than anything. He had done this before, turned his attention elsewhere, as if you were no longer worth the effort.
There was a knot in your stomach, tight and unyielding. It was hard to breathe around it, but you did not dare let it show. You did not dare let anyone see how much it hurt.
You knew better than to try and get his attention, though. You had learned long ago that when Theodore was not looking at you, nothing you did would change it. So you turned your gaze back to your untouched plate, pushing the remaining food around as if it could give you something to focus on, something to fill the hollow space.
The longer you sat there, the heavier the weight in your chest became — suffocating, relentless. The pitying look from that girl lingered in your mind, curling uncomfortably around your thoughts. It was not just the way she’d glanced at you like an afterthought — it was how right Theodore’s words had felt, how easily they’d seemed to confirm something you’d been trying to ignore for weeks.
You are not really a party person.
The words repeated in your head, twisting and distorting until they felt less like a passing comment and more like some unspoken truth — one you could not shake. It was not just that you did not belong at parties. It felt like you did not belong anywhere. Not with your friends, who had drifted into their own little worlds of whispered conversations and excited plans. Not with Theodore, who barely looked at you anymore — and if he did, it was only to find some way to push you further away.
And it was your own fault, was it not?
Your friends had tried — really tried — to keep you close. Joycelin and Astoria had spent weeks begging you to come with them — to Hogsmeade, to the common room, even just to sit with them in the Great Hall. They had coaxed you with warm smiles and reassurances that you’d have fun, but you never did. You could never quite shake the feeling that you were just… there. A shadow lingering behind them, dulling the brightness of their excitement.
It had reached the point where you almost felt guilty for saying yes — because each time you did, you could see it in their eyes. That flicker of hesitation, that subtle change in the air when you sat beside them. As though they were quietly waiting for you to dampen the mood.
You knew they loved you — you knew that. But sometimes love was not enough to stop you from feeling like a burden.
You wondered when it had happened — when you had become this person. The one who sat quietly at the edge of things, watching her friends smile and laugh from somewhere she could no longer reach. The one who had once been so full of warmth, now cold and withdrawn, retreating deeper into herself with each passing day.
It was not that you did not want to fight for what you once had — for Theodore, for your friends, for yourself. It was that you did not know how.
Because the truth was, you were tired — tired of trying to pretend that you were fine, tired of convincing yourself that this hollow feeling was not swallowing you whole. And most of all, you were tired of caring so much when it felt like no one seemed to care about you.
A dull ache settled behind your eyes, and you swallowed hard, blinking quickly to push the feeling down. You did not have the energy to fall apart — not here, not now. Instead, you kept your head low, eyes fixed on your plate as you tried to shrink into the silence, as if that might somehow make everything hurt a little less.
Just as you were about to sink back into your own thoughts, another voice broke through the fog of disappointment. The sudden shift in tone was enough to catch you off guard.
“Excuse me, are you… Y/N, right?”
The voice pulls you from your thoughts. You blink, not expecting to hear anyone speaking to you. When you look up, you are met with a pair of eyes. His eyes, a striking shade of blue, seem to gleam with an unexpected warmth. He stands there, leaning casually against the bench, his posture effortlessly confident. His dark hair, not quite as dark as Theodore’s but with a similar tousled quality, seems to catch the light in all the right places, and you can tell it’s the sort of hair that naturally falls into place, no matter what.
Adrien Delacroix.
His features are distinctively sharp, but there is a softness to them, too. He has a smile that feels almost practiced, easy, as if it is a shield he is worn a thousand times. His bone structure is different from Theodore’s—more delicate, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that seems to be chiseled perfectly. He’s stood there, looking down at you with an easy smile that barely hides his curiosity. He is tall—definitely taller than most guys in your year—and his gaze is steady, almost like he’s trying to read you.
The thought hits you immediately, almost involuntarily. What does he want?
You manage a quiet nod. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”
You blink again, not sure what to say next, but Adrien doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation. You hate how small your voice sounds, especially compared to Adrien’s friendly tone. You immediately wish you could say something more—something to make this interaction feel less awkward, but your words feel like they’re stuck somewhere deep in your chest.
“I thought I… ah…” He pauses briefly, brow creasing as he searches for the right word. “Reconnu — recognised you,” he corrects himself, his accent curling softly around the syllables. He leans casually against the table, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’m in a couple of your classes, and I’ve seen you around… but I’ve never had the chance to actually talk to you.”
He pauses for a moment, his hand lifting to push a strand of dark hair behind his ear with the same effortless grace that seems to define him. The way his accent lingers, slightly melodic and smooth as it dances in his words, makes you feel different. There’s something about him that feels different, refined—but not in an obvious, boastful way. Just in the way he holds himself, the subtle lift of his chin, the quiet confidence that lingers even in the simplest gestures.
“History of Magic, right?” Adrien asks, as if pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ve been in my class the last few weeks… I think I sit behind you.”
Your heart beats a little faster, and a flush creeps up your neck. Adrien notices, a quick flash of amusement crossing his face, but he does not make a big deal out of it.
You force a smile, nervous and unsure. “I dunno… I sleep through most of it.”
His lips twitch as he laughs softly, his voice rich, and the sound catches you off guard. “Vraiment? Really?” he says, his grin widening. “You should definitely stay awake. It’s fascinating stuff.” His tone is teasing, but there’s something more in his eyes — something that almost makes you wonder if he’s being sincere.
“I—I’ll try,” you murmur, pulling your sleeves down further, hiding your hands in the folds of your robes. You are not used to this, not used to being noticed like this. Especially not by someone like Adrien, who seems to draw people’s attention without even trying.
You cannot help but notice the way his eyes linger on you for just a moment too long before he blinks and looks away. It’s a small thing, but it sends your heart racing, and you cannot figure out why.
He leans in slightly, his voice lowering a little. “You’ve got that quiet thing going on… makes you seem a bit… mystérieuse.” His lips twitch with a small smile. “It’s cute.”
The words hit you like a shockwave. Cute. The simplicity of it, the way it feels like a compliment that doesn’t carry any weight behind it, makes your chest tighten. It’s not an insult, but something about it makes you feel exposed, like you don’t deserve the attention he’s giving you. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who could be “cute,” not the way the other girls are. You’ve spent so long hiding in the shadows, and now someone like Adrien is standing in front of you, treating you like you are someone worth noticing.
You do not know how to respond, so you just nod, suddenly feeling even more awkward. You can’t help it, your mind races with the thought that maybe he’s just being polite. Or maybe he’s just like the others who like to talk to you out of some weird obligation before moving on to something—or someone—else.
Adrien tilts his head, and for a moment, you are not sure if he’s trying to figure you out or if he’s just watching you. His lips twitch into a smile again, this time a little more knowing. “Well, if you ever need someone to keep you awake in History of Magic, I’m happy to help.”
You try not to smile, but the way his gaze lingers on you, the way he speaks, it’s hard not to. He seems genuine, yet you wonder how much of that is just the way he is—easy, charming, and unbothered.
“Or maybe we could catch up on what you’ve missed in the library?” He smiles, “I noticed you usually run off there as soon as Binns finishes.”
You shift slightly, the discomfort rising in your stomach. “I don’t usually spend much time in the library,” you say, almost apologetically, though you know it’s not entirely true. You’ve been there often, especially in the past few weeks, lingering in corners, trying to lose yourself in the quiet. You’ve seen Adrien there before, too, always focused, always absorbed in his reading. But you don’t mention that. It feels too intimate somehow, like acknowledging his presence would make this interaction even more real.
Adrien’s eyes soften as if he can see through your discomfort. He doesn’t push, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s actually paying attention to you—or just looking for something to fill the silence. He shifts, stepping a little closer, the air between you thick with something unspoken.
“I get that,” he says, his smile growing a little more genuine. “Hogwarts can be… eh… accablant… too much, no?” He chuckles softly. “I’ve only been here a little while, and I’m still figuring out where everything is.” His words are easy, his tone casual, like he’s trying to make you feel less out of place. You can tell he’s trying to make this conversation feel natural, but you can’t help but feel like you are failing at being natural, like every word that leaves your mouth is a stilted attempt to keep up.
You want to say something, to let him in, but the words feel wrong. Why is he even talking to me? You want to scream it, want to ask him why someone like him—who clearly fits in with all the bright, shiny faces at Hogwarts—would want to talk to someone like you. You are used to being on the outside, used to standing in the back while others take the spotlight. And here is Adrien, offering you a sliver of attention like it’s no big deal. You don’t know what to make of it.
But then he continues, his voice slipping back into that light, teasing tone. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while, actually. I just didn’t know how to approach you though—thought it might be best find away to do it differently…”
You freeze, caught off guard by the statement. Differently? It feels like a compliment, but it also feels like a judgment. You never meant to be unreachable. Is he saying I’m weird? You can’t stop the flash of insecurity that rises in your chest. You are not sure whether to thank him for the words or shrink away in embarrassment. You barely know him, yet somehow, his words feel like they’ve carved into you in ways you are not ready for.
“Hey — I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Adrien adds, as though sensing the shift in the air. “I just thought… maybe we could hang out sometime? I mean, I’ve seen you around, and you don’t seem like the type to just…” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly as he mutters, “Comment on dit… ah…” His fingers drum lightly on the table as he thinks. “Go with the flow?,” he finishes, a little unsure but still smiling. “You seem… hmm… like someone who thinks for herself. I thought it’d be nice to get to know you.”
The offer feels too big, too much for someone like you to take in, like a question you are not sure you are allowed to answer. You want to say no, to tell him it’s fine and you are used to being alone, but there’s a small part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s being honest.
Before you can figure out what to say, Adrien’s smile softens, and he steps back, giving you a little more space. “I’ll see you around then?” His voice is lighter, not pushing, but still there, lingering.
You sit there, watching him walk away, still unsure whether his invitation was just a formality, something said to pass the time, or if he genuinely meant it. You don’t know. You don’t know him, not really, but the thought of being wanted, of being seen by someone like him, leaves you feeling both lighter and heavier all at once.
You can’t shake the comparison in your mind—the way Theodore’s presence always felt heavy, like there was something between you that you could not name. But with Adrien, it’s different. He’s easy. He doesn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen, like Theodore did. And yet, you feel unsettled, unsure if you should let yourself enjoy this attention.
But why would someone like him be interested in someone like me? You can’t shake the doubt, the feeling that this is all too good to be true.
The first few days after Adrien introduced himself passed with little fanfare. You found yourself thinking back to his words, but they felt like little more than a fleeting moment in the midst of your usual routine. School was still a whirlwind—lessons, assignments, and the ever-present hum of your friends dragging you along, their chatter and laughter filling up the corners of your days. You barely had time to notice the absence of anything new.
It was only in the quieter moments, when you found yourself alone with your thoughts, that Adrien’s voice would drift back into your mind. “It was nice talking to you.”
You weren’t sure why it lingered. He’d said it casually, a throwaway comment as if it was no different from any other greeting. But it was different. You weren’t used to being treated like that. It was a small thing, but in a life that had felt so filled with noise and obligation, it felt like a small light. Yet you pushed it aside. You didn’t know him. He was a stranger, no matter how pleasant.
Days passed, and you carried on as usual. You caught glimpses of him in the halls occasionally, but he never approached you again. You hadn’t expected him to, really. And you didn’t know what you would have done if he had.
But then, a few days later, you were walking down the corridor on your way to the library, a pile of books pressed tightly against your chest. You had your mind on your homework and what you had left to do that afternoon.
As you passed a corner near the library’s entrance, you nearly collided with someone. You glanced up, startled, and there he was—Adrien, his warm eyes locking onto yours as though he’d been expecting to see you. He stepped back just in time, allowing you to continue walking.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Hi,” you answered, a little caught off guard, though you couldn’t quite place why. His smile was warm, genuine, and it did something strange to your heart—a soft flutter that you quickly buried under a sense of confusion. Why did it feel different when he smiled at you?
“I was actually heading to the library, too,” Adrien continued, his words stumbling slightly before he found the right phrasing. “I… uh… if you, uh, don’t mind, maybe I could… walk with you?”
His words came out with a slight hesitation, but his smile remained steady. You caught a soft ‘D’accord’ under his breath, as if he had been about to say something before stopping himself.
You didn’t answer immediately, unsure why it felt so difficult. But then you just shrugged. What harm could it do? It wasn’t like you had to say yes, but his offer felt casual enough—so you nodded.
“Sure, why not.”
The walk wasn’t long. You had a few moments of awkward silence, your footsteps echoing slightly in the hallway. But Adrien didn’t seem bothered by it. He didn’t try to fill the silence with pointless chatter, as some people would. He just walked beside you, the occasional glance in your direction almost like an invitation to speak, but never pushing for it.
When you arrived at the library, you felt an odd sense of… expectation. But why? You weren’t sure, and you couldn’t figure it out. He hadn’t even asked to sit with you. And yet, when you found a quiet corner, Adrien dropped down across from you with a casual air, pulling out a few books from his bag. You didn’t speak much at first, but the way he settled next to you, not intruding on your space but in a way that made you aware of him, was somehow comforting.
You focused on your work, but there were moments when you found yourself glancing up at him. His eyes were always so soft, always paying attention to the books in front of him, but you could tell that sometimes he looked at you, too. It was subtle, but it was there. He was careful, though, and never pressed you. You never felt like you were being watched. But there was something there, something unspoken.
It wasn’t like you’d thought anything would happen, but somehow, you felt a little lighter in the moments you shared with him, even if they were silent. You told yourself it was just the solitude of the library making it feel that way, nothing more.
The next few days followed a similar rhythm. Adrien continued to show up, not in an overwhelming way, but in the way of someone who was content with simply sharing space. You’d find him walking beside you in the halls, or—more often than not—he’d be sitting across from you in the library, quietly reading. Some days, he’d nod in your direction, offering a small, knowing smile. Other times, he would remain absorbed in his books, but you’d catch a glance his way, and his eyes would flicker toward yours before he quickly returned to what he was doing.
You still didn’t know how to feel about it. You weren’t used to the attention. It wasn’t anything grand or demanding, and maybe that’s why it unsettled you. Maybe it felt too easy. And maybe that was why you kept waiting for the moment it would end—waiting for the point where you’d both go your separate ways, like you always had before.
But that moment didn’t come.
A week passed, then two. Adrien didn’t disappear, but his presence began to feel familiar. Not in a bad way, but in the way that something small can slowly start to settle into your life without you quite realising it. You found yourself moving through your days in that strange mix of normalcy and anticipation.
By the third week, he’d started sitting next to you before you even had a chance to settle in. No longer waiting for an invitation, he simply dropped down next to you, book in hand. The quiet exchanges—small smiles, the soft rustle of pages turning—began to feel almost like a routine. Not something you had to think about.
And then, one day, he spoke up as you were gathering your things.
“I was thinking of going outside to study today,” Adrien said, looking at you as if the question were almost an afterthought. “Would you like to join me? The grounds look quieter with it being a little colder, no?”
You blinked, a little thrown off by the suggestion. You’d never thought of studying outdoors, especially when it was getting colder, but you couldn’t help but feel the soft pull of the invitation. There was something about the way he asked—it wasn’t pressure. It wasn’t forceful. It was simply an offer, the kind of offer you didn’t often get. No one had ever asked you to just be there, to sit in the open air and study without some ulterior motive.
“Uhm… yeah, sure,” you said, almost before you thought about it.
Adrien gave you a soft smile in response, and you noticed the faintest ‘Merci’ slip from his lips, as though he was thankful you’d agreed.
You couldn’t help but notice how your heart beat a little faster as you walked with him to the grounds, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your shoes, the crispness of the air making your breath visible in the autumn light. Adrien didn’t speak much during the walk, but there was an ease to it. A peaceful silence that you didn’t mind. You sat together on the grass, your books spread out in front of you, and for a few moments, the world just… slowed down.
The next few weeks felt much the same—slow, but different in a way that you couldn’t quite explain. You and Adrien started meeting more often, sometimes in the common room, other times out by the grounds. Conversations that had once felt awkward or forced now came more naturally. You weren’t always talking, but there was a sense of comfort in simply being near him.
You also started to notice the little things. Sometimes, when you were walking to class, Adrien would fall in step beside you. And not just to the library or the grounds, but even to places you didn’t have class together. You found yourself looking up, seeing his warm smile as he walked with you—just there, beside you. It wasn’t a big gesture, but there was something so simple and steady about it. You didn’t have to ask. He was just there.
Occasionally, he would notice you struggling with your bag or books, and without a second thought, Adrien would take them from you.
“Here,” he’d say, ‘Mon dieu,’ he’d mutter under his breath as he adjusted the weight, realising it was more than he anticipated. “I might have underestimated that.”
His touch was gentle, but firm, and his eyes always met yours with that same warm, effortless kindness. It wasn’t anything big, but it made you feel strangely cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.
And then, one day, you realised you were no longer simply meeting him in the library or on the grounds. Adrien had started showing up outside of those places, walking you to and from your classes. Even when you didn’t have class together, you’d find him walking beside you. Sometimes, you’d talk, sometimes not. But you always felt… lighter, more grounded with him by your side.
By the fifth week, something had changed. You were running late, as usual. You rushed through the hallways, trying to make it to Potions class on time, your bag slung over your shoulder and your books clutched tightly in your arms. You were almost there when you heard Slughorn’s voice, carrying through the door as he gave his typical greeting.
“Settle down, everyone!” Professor Slughorn’s booming voice echoed, followed by his characteristic chuckle. “We’re about to begin!”
You pushed the door open quickly, slipping inside the classroom and feeling a rush of embarrassment. As you entered, your eyes immediately searched for a spot. The room was buzzing with conversation, but the first thing you noticed was Theodore’s desk—his books already neatly arranged on the surface. He was speaking to a group of students, laughing softly, not yet noticing you.
Your gaze flicked over to the other side of the room, where Adrien was sitting alone. His posture was relaxed, his usual calm expression on his face. He seemed unaware of the subtle tension you felt, but when his eyes met yours, there was a flicker of warmth, a quiet understanding between you both that had grown stronger over the past few weeks.
You hesitated for a moment. Theodore’s desk was set up just a few feet away, and yet, it felt so distant. You swallowed, glancing back at Adrien, who was looking at you with that familiar, soft smile.
You took a few steps toward his desk, feeling your heart race a little. Your thoughts collided in a whirlwind—Should I? Will it be okay? You were almost at his side when you stopped, unsure. Was it too bold, too sudden?
“Is it… okay if I sit here?” you asked quietly, your voice small but sincere, the question almost slipping out before you could stop it.
Adrien’s face lit up, his smile widening with ease. There was no hesitation in his response. “Of course,” he said, his accent slipping through just a bit as he added, “It’s… it’s more than okay.”
The words had a warmth that settled in your chest. You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was something comforting about the way he made you feel, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
You slid into the seat beside him, your books still clutched in your lap, and glanced at the front of the room where Slughorn was still greeting the class. Your thoughts, however, lingered on the quiet space between you and Adrien. You couldn’t help but notice how easy it felt to sit next to him, how his presence made the world feel just a little bit softer.
Adrien shifted a little closer to his desk, leaning slightly in your direction as he began to unpack his things, but not too much—just enough to let you know he was there. It was subtle, but it made you feel less alone. You were here, in this moment, and for some reason, it felt like it mattered.
You settled into your seat, feeling the class start to hum around you as Slughorn continued his instructions. The words were a distant background noise now, and for a brief moment, you felt as though the world outside of this room had faded away. You were no longer rushing to catch up or trying to keep pace with your thoughts. You were just here, with Adrien, and it felt… easy.
The days had started to drag on, and with each one, the sense that something was off between you and Theodore Nott grew heavier. He couldn’t pinpoint it at first. There hadn’t been a single moment where you had argued or said anything that would cause him to doubt things between you. It was all the little things—the quiet shifts in your behaviour that he couldn’t ignore.
At first, he tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just the usual school pressure. Everyone was busy, and he knew you had other commitments, other friends. But the more he thought about it, the more something didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been by his side in the usual places—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall.
Theodore had always found comfort in those small, predictable routines you shared. The moments where you’d sneak into the library early, books scattered around the table as you both tried to get ahead on your assignments. The way you’d meet up in the courtyard after class, sharing a quiet moment before heading off to your next lesson. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it was your time, and it made everything feel familiar, safe, like the world around you could be chaotic, but at least you had that.
But now, it was as if those small moments had slipped away. You weren’t there waiting for him, and you weren’t with him when he expected you to be. At first, it was easy to ignore. But then, one morning, when he entered the dining hall, he caught sight of you. And his heart sank.
You were sitting with Adrien Delacroix.
It wasn’t that you weren’t allowed to sit with him—it was more that it was so different. You weren’t sitting with him like usual. You hadn’t even looked in his direction when he walked in. You and Adrien were talking, laughing, your heads bent close together as you shared some private joke.
Theodore’s eyes narrowed. Okay, he thought. It’s nothing. You were just talking to Adrien. He had no right to be bothered by it. It’s not like you weren’t friends with him. But still—something about it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel normal.
He tried to ignore it as he sat down at his usual spot, forcing himself to focus on his food, but the image of you and Adrien stayed in his mind. He pushed it down, telling himself it was nothing, but the feeling lingered, twisting in his chest.
Days passed, and it didn’t get better. It only seemed to get worse.
Theodore started to notice more subtle things. Like how you always seemed to be in the places that were once yours—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall. And each time, you weren’t with him. You were with Adrien.
It wasn’t just that. You weren’t sitting where you usually did anymore. In the library, you used to sit next to him, always the quiet corner by the window where the light slanted just right. But now, when he walked in, you were already there—across the room, seated next to Adrien, books laid out in front of you both, engrossed in whispers of conversation.
The first time it happened, Theodore had walked in expecting to find you at the usual spot, but you weren’t there. He scanned the room quickly, his heart sinking when he finally saw you. And Adrien.
The feeling in his chest shifted—unsettled, uncomfortable—as he walked past you both, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than it should. You hadn’t looked up, not even when he passed. It was almost like you hadn’t noticed him at all.
The second time it happened, it was during lunch. The same table. The same seats. But again, you weren’t sitting with him. You and Adrien were deep in conversation, the two of you leaning toward each other, laughing about something that seemed to have nothing to do with him.
Theodore sat down, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. And when he did, his eyes would flicker to Adrien, to the way you smiled at him. It’s fine, he told himself again. You and Adrien were friends. But it didn’t feel fine. It didn’t feel right. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being pushed out of the space you once shared.
He couldn’t quite put it into words, but it hurt.
The courtyard was the same. He had always expected to see you there, waiting for him, ready to talk about whatever was on your mind. But more often than not, you were already with Adrien.
It was small at first—those little moments when you weren’t there—but it was consistent. It was happening so often now, he couldn’t ignore it.
Theodore’s eyes followed you from across the courtyard. You were walking with Adrien again, your arms swinging lightly at your sides as you exchanged easy words with him. It wasn’t just that you were walking together—it was how naturally it seemed to come to you. There was no hesitation, no wariness. You were laughing at something Adrien had said, your body language open and comfortable.
Theodore felt a twinge in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. Or maybe it was. He couldn’t quite sort through the jumble of emotions.
You had been so quiet with him lately. But here, with Adrien, you were lighthearted, carefree. So different. It stung.
He’d caught glimpses of this before, bits and pieces—your laughter a little louder when Adrien was around, your smiles more frequent. But seeing it like this, with the two of you walking side by side, so effortlessly close, made it feel… final.
The weight of the past few weeks pressed on him then—the subtle shift, the moments when he’d felt you slipping away without even realising why. You used to seek him out, find excuses to talk to him, to share your thoughts, even your silence. But recently… it had been different. More distant. More reserved.
And then, as if to confirm his suspicions, he saw you—laughing, your eyes bright as you interacted with Adrien and a group of friends. You were introducing Adrien to them, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you made some joke. Astoria and Draco were laughing along, their approval written across their faces. They exchanged knowing looks, their smiles stretching in approval at the ease with which you were interacting with Adrien.
Theodore stopped, watching from the edge of the group, unnoticed. His breath caught in his chest. You were so at ease around him. So different. Your laughter wasn’t strained or forced. It was free. Unburdened. It didn’t take much to see how much more comfortable you were around Adrien than you were with him.
You were surrounded by your friends—laughing, joking, pulling Adrien into the conversation with ease. Their eyes flickered between you two, and he saw them exchange smiles, clearly pleased with the dynamic between you. As if they were glad to see you so happy.
Theodore’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Was this what you were becoming? The person you were without him?
The contrast was sharp. There you were, surrounded by people who seemed to appreciate you, who saw the side of you that he hadn’t seen in weeks. That he’d stopped seeing.
He couldn’t remember when things had started to shift. When had you pulled away? When had Adrien stepped into the spaces that were once his?
His heart ached with the realisation that you were no longer the person he shared these moments with. You weren’t the same. And worse still, it was clear you didn’t need him the way you had before.
But how had it happened? He thought, watching you, his mind spiralling.
By the time Potions class rolled around, the feeling had only grown worse. Theodore had arrived early, as he often did, hoping to settle in before the class began. He made his way to the table you usually sat at, gathering his books and preparing for the lesson, but he was soon called over by a classmate.
He gave the table one last glance before walking over, but something gnawed at him. He hadn’t seen you yet. Was she late again?
He thought nothing of it, you usually took a nap before Thursday’s potions class—often finding an empty nearby classroom to get yourself 20 minutes of sleep.
When Slughorn called for everyone to sit down, Theodore returned to the table, expecting you to already be there, as usual. He looked up, ready to greet you with a casual smile, only to pause to realise the seat was empty. He became confused.
Was she ill? Is she okay?
As he took his seat, he started twisting and turning, looking for all the other possible entrances—waiting for your hectic entrance. His heart dropped as his eyes landed on you—sitting with Adrien. Right there, on the other side of the classroom, with someone who wasn’t him. He blinked, almost thinking he had seen wrong, but no—the reality didn’t change. You were sitting beside him, your focus flicking between Slughorn and Adrien.
Theodore froze , his breath caught in his chest. At first, his mind registered the strange emptiness in his stomach, like something was missing. And then, his thoughts shifted.
She’s okay. Just not with me.
The words in his head felt like they were slowing down as he settled on his stool, trying to gather his thoughts. You and Adrien, already engrossed in a conversation, hadn’t even noticed him yet. His confusion only grew as he glanced at your table, trying not to show how the tightness in his chest was making it hard to breathe. Why weren’t you sitting with him?
Theodore’s grip on his quill tightened until his knuckles whitened. It had been weeks since you’d sought him out, and now… now, it was like he didn’t even exist in the spaces you once shared.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something had changed.
Theodore had never considered himself an impatient person. He knew how to wait. He had spent years perfecting the art of watching, observing, and keeping his emotions neatly in check, tucked away beneath layers of carefully constructed indifference.
But right now, sitting in this godforsaken Potions lesson, he felt like he was unraveling.
His grip on his quill was tight, the feathered tip bending slightly under the pressure of his fingers. He forced himself to focus on the instructions, on the slow, deliberate movements of slicing up the ginger roots in front of him. But his hands were tense, his shoulders stiff, his entire body wound so tightly that he thought if someone so much as breathed wrong in his direction, he might snap.
He had been watching you. He hated that he had been watching you.
But how could he not?
You were right there, just a few feet away, your head tilted toward Adrien, your expression soft in a way that Theodore hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. The two of you worked side by side, close enough that your elbows brushed every now and then, and each time it happened, you didn’t flinch away. Didn’t seem to mind at all.
It was infuriating.
He didn’t understand it—this shift, this change, the way you had slipped out of his grasp so seamlessly that he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.
Maybe that was the worst part.
He could still remember the way things used to be—the way you used to seek him out, even when he wasn’t looking for you. The way you’d drop into the seat beside him without a second thought, a quiet presence that had never felt intrusive, never felt unwelcome. The way you had once laughed with him, not the way you did with Adrien now, but in a way that had been just for him.
But that version of you was gone, wasn’t it?
Theodore’s jaw clenched, and before he could stop himself, his fingers tightened around his quill—too tight.
The wood snapped between his fingers with a sharp crack.
A few students turned at the noise, but Theodore didn’t move. He barely even registered the ink that dripped onto his parchment, spreading into dark, messy blotches. His pulse was hammering against his ribs, a steady, unrelenting rhythm that did nothing to soothe the weight pressing against his chest.
He had to get a grip.
He forced his fingers to relax, letting the broken pieces of his quill drop onto the desk. He exhaled slowly, but it didn’t make a difference. The irritation still clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting.
He was tired of this. Tired of pretending that it didn’t matter, tired of convincing himself that it didn’t get to him every time he saw Adrien carrying your books, or walking beside you like he had always belonged there.
Because he hadn’t.
That was Theodore’s place.
Or at least—it had been.
He hadn’t been able to talk to you properly in weeks. Not because he didn’t want to. He did. He wanted to find you alone, wanted to pull you aside, wanted to demand answers that he wasn’t even sure he could put into words.
But every time he tried, Adrien was there.
It was infuriating how easily the other boy had slid into your life, how effortlessly he had taken up space that should have been Theodore’s.
He had tried to tell himself that he was being irrational. That there was no reason to feel like this, no reason to let something as simple as your choice of company bother him.
But it did.
It fucking did.
And what made it worse—what made it unbearable—was that you didn’t seem to notice.
You didn’t notice how he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention.
Didn’t notice the way his hands curled into fists every time Adrien slung an arm around your shoulder.
Didn’t notice the way he had started walking slower in the hallways, lingering just long enough to see if you’d turn to him, if you’d say something, anything.
But you never did.
Theodore inhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his expression impassive as he glanced toward you again.
You were laughing.
Not just a quiet chuckle, not the polite kind of laughter you gave when you were only half-paying attention. No, this was different. This was real. Genuine. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the edges, that made you drop your head slightly like you couldn’t quite contain it.
And Adrien—fucking Adrien Delacroix—was looking at you like you had given him the best gift in the world.
Theodore’s fingers curled around the edge of his desk, nails pressing into the wood.
The sound of Slughorn’s voice cut through the air, signalling the end of the lesson, but Theodore barely heard it.
He was still staring at you, at the way you gathered your things with an easy, unbothered grace, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.
He should say something.
Now.
This was his chance.
Before he could overthink it, before you could leave the room, before Adrien could whisk you away yet again.
But just as he stepped forward—
Adrien turned to you, saying something quietly, something just for you. Whatever it was, it made you smile, and then, just like that, you were walking toward the door with him, the two of you slipping effortlessly into the current of students flooding the corridor.
And Theodore—
Theodore was left standing there, fists clenched at his sides, frustration coiling tightly in his chest like a noose.
He couldn’t do this anymore.
This wasn’t just irritation. This wasn’t just some fleeting annoyance that he could brush off with a sharp exhale and a roll of his shoulders.
No—this was something else entirely.
Something heavier.
Something dangerously close to regret.
Theodore barely felt his feet against the stone floor as he stormed through the castle. His mind was racing, his pulse pounding, the frustration still simmering beneath his skin like an open wound.
He couldn’t shake the image of you and Adrien in Potions. The way the two of you worked so easily together, the way your elbows brushed when you leaned too close. The way he murmured something low, just for you, and the way your lips had twitched with amusement before you gave him that look. That soft, private look that Theodore hadn’t seen in weeks.
It was wrong. It should have been him sitting next to you, not Adrien. It should have been his shoulder brushing against yours. He should have been the one pulling your cauldron closer when you got distracted, the one smirking as you muttered something under your breath about how you hated Slughorn’s tedious assignments. He should have been the one you turned to with that easy familiarity, the kind that once belonged to him and only him.
But he wasn’t.
Because you had stopped turning to him at all.
And now? Now you had Adrien-fucking- Delacroix acting like he had any right to step into that space, like he had the right to replace Theodore without a second thought. Like you had simply let it happen.
His hands clenched at his sides.
He had to know. Had to understand why this was happening, why you had pulled away, why it felt like you had disappeared from his life without so much as a second glance. Because if he didn’t get answers soon, he felt like he might lose his goddamn mind.
He took the corner sharply, heading straight for Draco’s dorm.
Someone moved into his path.
“Theodore?”
It was the girl from before—the one who had approached him at breakfast, the one who had tried to invite him to the Valentine’s party some weeks back. The same girl who had looked at you with thinly veiled amusement, like you were some afterthought to her plans.
He didn’t care about her.
She stepped toward him with a bright, expectant smile. “I was wondering if—”
He walked right past her.
Didn’t slow down. Didn’t acknowledge her.
Didn’t even hear what she had been about to say.
Her voice faltered, her footsteps pausing behind him, but he didn’t bother looking back. He was already moving, already set on what he needed to do, already too far gone to stop now.
Draco was going to tell him what the hell was going on.
His patience had finally run out.
By the time he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate. He slammed his fist against it, hard enough that the hinges rattled.
“Malfoy,” he bit out, voice sharp, demanding. “Open the fucking door.”
Nothing.
His fingers curled into a fist again, his knuckles burning.
“If you don’t open it right now, I swear I’ll—”
The handle gave way easily beneath his grip. The door wasn’t locked.
He shoved it open, frustration spilling over—
And immediately regretted it.
Draco Malfoy was on his bed, half-naked.
Astoria Greengrass was also half-naked.
The sheets had barely been pulled over her, her blouse abandoned somewhere on the floor, her curls disheveled in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Draco was sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, his hair a mess, looking every bit like someone who had just been interrupted at the worst possible moment.
Theodore froze.
Astoria froze.
Draco blinked once, then exhaled like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.
For a full, excruciating moment, nobody moved.
Then Astoria let out a noise of sheer disbelief, scrambling for the sheets to cover herself. “Are you actually fucking serious, Nott?”
Theodore felt like he’d been dropped into hell.
His eyes snapped to the ceiling. “For fuck’s sake—” He turned sharply, facing the door, but didn’t leave. His fingers dug into his temples as he let out a slow, aggravated breath. “Why the fuck was your door unlocked?”
Draco just rolled his eyes, completely unbothered. “Didn’t think a lunatic was about to barge in.”
Astoria scoffed from where she stood by the wardrobe, still tying the belt of Draco’s robe around her waist. “Merlin, if I had a Galleon for every time a Slytherin boy had a meltdown in this room, I’d be rich.”
Theodore barely heard her. His patience snapped.
“What’s going on with her?”
Draco raised a brow. “Who?”
Theodore saw red.
Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Draco’s collar and yanked him forward, the frustration that had been simmering beneath his skin finally spilling over.
Draco barely reacted, unimpressed as ever, but before he could pry Theodore off—
Astoria grabbed Theodore’s collar.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, physically pulling Theodore back with both hands, forcing him to let go of Draco’s shirt. “If you’re about to start some macho territorial bullshit, at least have the decency to do it outside where I’m not half-naked.”
Theodore barely stumbled, but his glare snapped to her. “Stay out of this, Greengrass.”
Astoria barked out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She crossed her arms, gaze narrowing. “What the hell is your problem?”
“My problem,” Theodore hissed, shaking his head, “is that you two clearly know something and are dragging this out instead of telling me what the fuck is going on.”
Draco straightened his collar like nothing had happened, exhaling in exasperation. “I already told you—”
Astoria cut him off, rolling her eyes. “He’s too dense, Malfoy. Just tell him what your dear cousin is doing before he starts breaking furniture.”
Draco shot her an unimpressed look but obliged, sighing as he finally leaned back against the headboard.
“She’s seventeen, Theodore.”
Theodore clenched his jaw. “I know that.”
“Do you?” Astoria interjected, raising a brow. “Because you’re acting like it’s some great mystery why a girl like her is suddenly acting her age.”
Theodore snapped his head toward her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Astoria exchanged a slow glance with Draco, like they were having a silent conversation. Then she sighed dramatically, sitting on the edge of the bed and propping her chin on her palm.
“It means,” she said slowly, “that it’s embarrassing how blind you are.”
Theodore’s nails dug into his palms. “Watch it, Greengrass.”
“Or what?” she shot back, unimpressed. “You’ll shove me into a wall next? Gods, you are so obvious.”
Draco smirked. “She’s right, you know.”
“Of course I am,” Astoria said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Here’s the thing, Nott. If you wanted her to stay in your orbit, maybe you shouldn’t have acted like she was nothing more than some convenient little thing to have around.”
Theodore’s jaw ticked. “That’s not—”
“She’s moving on,” Draco interrupted, his voice eerily calm. “Because that’s what people do when they realise they’ve been wasting their time.”
The words landed like a slap.
Theodore swallowed, something bitter curling in his stomach.
Astoria hummed. “I mean, you didn’t actually think she’d wait around for you forever, did you?” She tilted her head, watching him. “Poor thing probably woke up one day and realised she was chasing after a ghost.”
Theodore’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not how it was.”
Draco gave him a flat look. “Wasn’t it?”
Theodore hated the way his stomach twisted.
“She’s not stupid, Nott,” Draco continued, voice cool. “And she’s not waiting anymore. She’s looking for something better.” He smirked, slow and sharp. “Someone better.”
Astoria whistled. “Brutal.”
Theodore exhaled harshly through his nose, shaking his head. “That’s not—” He stopped himself. His voice had wavered. Fuck.
Astoria’s expression shifted, like she had caught something in his face that he hadn’t meant to show. Then, to his absolute fury, she smiled.
“Oh, this is rich,” she mused, eyes flickering over him. “You actually thought she was always going to come back to you, didn’t you?”
Theodore froze.
Draco chuckled under his breath.
“She did, though, didn’t she?” Astoria continued, tapping a finger against her knee. “Every time you got too cold, every time you pulled away, every time you treated her like a second thought—she still came back. And now that she’s not?” Her lips curled, saccharine and cruel. “You don’t know what to do with yourself.”
The words dug in deep, cutting through skin and bone like a blade.
Draco sighed, stretching out his legs. “You’re pissed off because you thought you had all the time in the world.” He gave Theodore a lazy once-over. “But newsflash—you don’t.”
Astoria nodded in agreement. “Adrien Delacroix is looking like a much better option than a boy who can’t make up his fucking mind.”
Theodore’s breathing was sharp, unsteady. His mind raced, but his lips remained pressed in a tight, stubborn line. He refused to acknowledge the sickening feeling twisting inside him, the one whispering that Draco and Astoria were right.
They weren’t. They couldn’t be.
You weren’t moving on.
You weren’t choosing Adrien over him.
You couldn’t be.
“I never treated her like a second thought,” Theodore muttered, voice tight, controlled—barely masking the storm raging inside him.
Astoria let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, really?” Her arms crossed over her chest, her expression sharpening into something lethal. “Then what the hell do you call the past few months, Nott?”
Theodore’s jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to argue—
But Astoria gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest in mock horror.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did I say months? That was a huge mistake.” She took a step closer, her smirk turning cold.
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something vicious.
“Years.”
The words landed like a curse, slamming into Theodore’s chest, wrapping around his ribs like an iron vice.
His stomach dropped.
Astoria scoffed. “Yeah, years, Nott. Years of you keeping her close enough to touch but never letting her hold on. Years of her looking at you like you hung the fucking stars, waiting—praying—for you to see her the way she saw you.”
Theodore’s breath was coming in short, uneven pulls.
“But you didn’t, did you?” Astoria pressed, her voice razor-sharp. “Or maybe you did, and you liked knowing she’d never leave. That no matter how many times you ignored her, no matter how many times you pulled away, no matter how many times you made her feel like she was nothing—she’d still be there.”
Theodore’s stomach twisted violently.
Because she was right.
You had always been there.
And he had been stupid enough to take that for granted.
His throat felt tight. “That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what happened!” Astoria screamed, her voice cracking, raw with frustration. “She spent years orbiting around you like you were something fucking sacred. Like you were the fucking sun and she was just lucky to stand in your light.”
Theodore felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“But stars burn out, Nott,” Astoria spat, hands trembling at her sides. “And eventually, people stop waiting.”
His chest ached—something sharp, something unbearable, something he hadn’t even realized was there until this moment.
You had waited for him. For so long. And he—
He had wasted it.
Astoria wasn’t finished.
“And you know what the worst part is?” she demanded, stepping even closer, fury flashing in her eyes. “She never even wanted to say anything about it! She just took it.”
Theodore blinked. “What?”
Astoria let out a hollow laugh. “Oh yeah, she never complained. Never confronted you. Never demanded that you finally make up your fucking mind.” She sneered. “But Draco noticed, didn’t you?”
Draco exhaled through his nose, nodding, his expression unreadable.
“She never told me,” he admitted. “But I saw the red eyes. The tear-stained sleeves. The way she always looked away when she thought no one was watching.”
Theodore’s chest constricted, a sickening pressure building in his ribs.
No.
No, that wasn’t—
You had never—
Had you?
“She thought she was hiding it,” Astoria continued, voice filled with something dangerously close to disgust. “But I got her to talk. Eventually. And do you know what she said?”
Theodore couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“She said it didn’t matter.” Astoria’s voice softened for just a second, something bitter laced in her tone. “She said she was fine. That you weren’t doing anything wrong—that it was just how you were.” Her expression hardened again, her hands clenching into fists. “And do you know how fucking heartbreaking it is to watch someone shrink themselves into something manageable just so the person they love doesn’t feel guilty?”
Theodore’s hands were shaking.
“She acted like it was normal,” Astoria went on, her voice rising again. “Like it was fine that she spent years being treated like an afterthought—like she should just be grateful for the scraps of attention you gave her.”
Theodore felt like he was going to be sick.
She had hurt because of him.
She had cried because of him.
And he had never even noticed.
Astoria exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “And now you have the fucking audacity to stand here and act like she’s the one abandoning you?” Her voice broke, half a laugh, half something furious. “No, Theodore. You don’t get to do that. You let her go. And now she’s choosing to be happy.”
Theodore’s nails dug into his palms so hard he thought they might draw blood.
Because he saw it now.
Every moment he had let pass. Every glance you had given him that he had pretended not to notice. Every fucking time you had stood next to him, waiting for him to say something, to do something, and he had done nothing.
And now you weren’t waiting anymore.
His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “I care about her.”
Astoria’s laugh was vicious. “No, no, you fucking don’t.”
Theodore flinched.
Astoria stared at him for a long moment, her eyes still burning. Then, she exhaled and threw up her hands. “Oh, my god.”
Theodore swallowed hard.
Astoria turned to Draco. “Why are boys so fucking stupid?”
Draco sighed. “It’s genetic.”
Theodore’s control shattered. His pride was in ruins. He took a step forward, his voice breaking. “Please.”
Astoria blinked.
Draco raised a brow.
Theodore swallowed hard. His throat burned, his chest ached, but none of it mattered. Not compared to this.
“I can’t—I can’t lose her,” he said, voice shaking. “I can’t—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching as he forced himself to meet Astoria’s gaze. “Just tell me what the fuck to do.”
Astoria studied him.
Then she sighed, rubbing her temples. “God, you’re pathetic.”
Draco hummed. “Painful to watch, really.”
Astoria rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine.” She took a step forward, poking a sharp finger into Theodore’s chest. “You want to fix this?”
Theodore didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then stop thinking about it and do something, you absolute coward.”
Theodore exhaled shakily.
Astoria didn’t let up. “You don’t get to just show up and expect her to forgive you. You have to fight for her. You have to prove to her that you give a shit.”
Theodore swallowed hard.
Draco smirked. “Sounds like a grand gesture is in order.”
Astoria snorted. “Not even. Something consistent, Nott. Because trust me—Adrien is making it very, very easy for her to forget about you.”
Something flared hot in Theodore’s chest.
No.
You weren’t going to forget him.
He wasn’t going to let you.
And for the first time in his life—
He was going to fight for you.
Theodore woke with a start, the sharp knock at his door pulling him violently from the tangled haze of restless sleep. His head jerked up, and for a disoriented moment, the room swayed around him—stacks of parchment, ink-stained hands, the bitter taste of exhaustion thick on his tongue. His cheek had been pressed against his desk, the parchment beneath it crumpled, words smudged into an indecipherable mess. His body ached, stiff from the awkward position he’d fallen asleep in, and as he blinked blearily, the sight before him sank in with a slow, leaden weight.
His desk was an absolute disaster. Papers—so many of them—scattered across the wooden surface, some half-crumpled in frustration, others folded neatly, all of them failed attempts at something that should’ve been simple. Letters.
He had tried to write to you.
The realization clawed at him, dragging its nails down his ribs. The ink had bled through some pages, the sentences struck through with such force that they had torn, his frustration laid bare in every scratched-out word. Apologies he couldn’t get right. Apologies that, even now, felt meaningless. His own handwriting glared back at him in different variations of the same pitiful attempts:
I should’ve—
I never meant—
If you could just—
None of them were right. None of them would fix it.
A second knock echoed against the heavy door, firmer this time. He exhaled sharply, running a tired hand over his face before pushing himself up from the desk. The room felt suffocating, a mess of discarded pages, ink bottles knocked onto their sides, the air thick with the weight of too many unsaid things. He barely remembered falling asleep. He barely remembered anything past the spiral of last night—pacing the room, writing, tossing letter after letter into the pile, his mind a hurricane of words he could never bring himself to say aloud.
And now, someone was here.
Dragging himself toward the door, Theodore pulled it open without much thought. The sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.
Packages. Stacked haphazardly outside his room, almost comically abundant. A house-elf stood beside them, looking mildly unimpressed as he shuffled the last box into place.
“Delivery for Master Nott,” the elf announced, then, without another word, disappeared with a sharp crack, leaving Theodore standing there, staring at the pile of things he had—
Merlin.
His fingers twitched at his sides, a slow, creeping horror settling into his bones as he took in the sight properly. Wildflowers, their petals pristine and delicate, wrapped in deep green silk. A book—the one you had mentioned in passing months ago, the one you had run your fingers over in the shop window but never bought for yourself. You've probably found a way to read this already. Jewelry, carefully selected, gleaming in the light. And more—small things, tokens, pieces of something that, at the time, had seemed like they would mean something.
His gut twisted.
"Cazzo," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face, pressing his fingers hard against his closed eyes.
This—this was pathetic.
A short, breathless laugh left him, bitter and self-deprecating. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the strands as if it might ground him, as if it might undo whatever this was. What had he been thinking? That he could throw money at this, at you, and somehow that would fix it? That he could neatly wrap up his guilt in expensive gifts and you’d just—what? Forgive him? Pretend none of it happened?
Theodore swallowed hard, his gaze darkening as it lingered on the unopened packages. The weight of it all—the sleepless nights, the letters he could never finish, the sharp edges of regret cutting into him—it crashed down with a force that made his chest feel hollow.
Because he saw it now.
You wouldn’t take any of this. You would look at the flowers, the book, the jewelry, all of it—and you would see right through him. You would see the desperation, the guilt, the pathetic attempt to mend something that was already broken.
He saw you standing there, just beyond the mess, your figure sharp against the blur of his exhaustion. The tilt of your head, the steady weight of your gaze—it was you. It had to be. You were right there, arms crossed, expression unreadable, watching him in that way that always made his chest feel tight.
For a split second, relief surged through him, raw and unfiltered. You had come. You had seen the mess, the letters, the wildflowers, the pathetic attempt at fixing things, and you had come anyway.
But you weren’t saying anything. You were just standing there, your eyes scanning the disaster around him, and when they met his, they weren’t filled with anger. They were filled with something worse.
Disappointment.
His stomach twisted, his throat tightening painfully. He opened his mouth, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I know—" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I know it's not enough."
You didn’t move. Didn’t react. The silence pressed against him, heavier than anything he had ever felt.
He swallowed hard, shifting on his feet. "I just—" He let out a short, unsteady breath, raking a hand through his hair. "What the fuck was I thinking?"
Still, nothing. Your gaze didn’t waver, and that was what made it unbearable. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t cold. It was just… resigned.
"Cazzo," he muttered under his breath, dragging his hands down his face. "I should've—"
You can’t buy my forgiveness, Theodore.
The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they might as well have been a curse, sinking deep into his chest, curling around his ribs like something inescapable.
He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes, willing the vision to disappear.
But when he opened them again—you were gone.
He exhaled sharply through his nose as if that could push the thought away. As if he didn’t already know, deep down, that you had every right to say it.
Because this wasn’t about the gifts. It was about everything before them. The years of taking you for granted. The dismissals, the avoidance, the ways he had let you slip through his fingers like something he had assumed would always be there.
And now, when he was finally ready to reach for you—you weren’t waiting anymore.
The realization hit harder than he expected, slamming into him like a punch to the ribs. His throat tightened, and for a long, unbearable moment, all he could do was stand there, staring at the mess he had made.
Then, with a sharp inhale, he turned away. The packages remained where they were, untouched, as Theodore shut the door behind him, pressing his back against the wood.
He needed to do better.
But for the first time, he wasn’t sure if it would be enough.
How was he supposed to reach you now? How was he supposed to even begin to fix this? He couldn’t just show up—not after everything, not after the silence he had let stretch between you like an uncrossable chasm. And yet, the thought of doing nothing, of letting this fester, made his stomach churn violently.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. He had spent so long keeping you at a distance, and now that you were truly out of reach, all he wanted to do was find you.
But how?
Theodore wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there.
He had come out to the courtyard for a cigarette—just one, just long enough to clear his head. Long enough to pretend that he wasn’t unraveling from the inside out. But the hours had slipped by like water through his fingers, and now the sun was setting, casting the sky in deep purples and burnt oranges. His cigarette pack was almost empty. His fingers were stained with nicotine, raw from how many times he had burned each cigarette down to the filter.
The taste of smoke lingered thickly at the back of his throat, acrid and familiar, but it wasn’t doing anything to settle him. His nerves felt frayed, his thoughts tangled in a loop he couldn’t escape. The mess of the morning still clung to him—Astoria’s words, Draco’s sharp-edged amusement, the unbearable weight of knowing he had let you slip right through his fingers.
He didn’t want to talk to them again. Pushing harder would mean Astoria telling him to fuck off or worse—another lecture from her sharp tongue. And Draco? Draco was already entertained enough by this whole thing. No. If Theodore was going to understand what had changed, there was only one person who could give him that answer.
Adrien Delacroix.
The thought of Adrien gnawed at him. He’d noticed him the second he stepped into the courtyard, but Adrien had been here first. That should have meant something. Should’ve given him the right to ignore him, to pretend that he wasn’t watching from the corner of his eye as Adrien sat with his group of friends.
"C'est insensé," one of them muttered, shaking his head. "Tu as vu? Since—je ne sais pas, maybe une hour?"
Adrien exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Je sais."
The boy scoffed. "Mais pourquoi? What is his problem? He just—stares, like—like he wants to kill you."
Another boy chuckled, glancing over his shoulder. "You steal his girlfriend or something?" His accent thick but teasing. "He looks at you like... like you took something from him."
Adrien smirked, shaking his head. "Non. But maybe he thinks so."
Theodore’s chest tightened, his hands shaking, his cigarette burning down too quickly in his hand. He could feel the jealousy curling in his gut like a fist. The idea that Adrien could have anything to do with you—it shouldn’t matter. He knew it shouldn’t matter. But fuck, it did.
His teeth ground together, a bitter taste rising in his mouth. The laughter of Adrien’s friends, casual and light, sent a flare of irritation through him. He hated how Adrien made everything feel easy—like he was untouchable. It burned even worse when Theodore had to rely on him to understand what had changed.
And still—he couldn’t just let it go.
The thought of asking Adrien for help was almost unbearable. His pride bristled at the idea of begging, of needing someone like him for something. Adrien had a way of making everything feel like a game, like Theodore was just another piece on his chessboard.
But fuck, the thought of not asking him was worse. The knot in his chest tightened. If Adrien was the answer, then he’d have to go to him. And that was the last thing he wanted.
But what else was there? How else would he get to you?
Adrien laughed again. The sound caught him off guard—light, unbothered. It threaded through the crisp evening air like it belonged there. Theodore didn’t want to hear it. But somehow, it clung to him, stoking the fire in his chest.
"Merde," one of Adrien’s friends muttered, and Theodore’s stomach twisted. "Regarde encore— he’s still looking."
Adrien sighed, rubbing his temple. "Je sais."
Theodore’s shoulders tensed. The idea that Adrien could sense him watching—feel his gaze—made his blood boil. He dropped his gaze, flicking the last of the cigarette, trying to feign disinterest, but it was too late. The damage was done.
"Mais pourquoi?" the other boy scoffed, laughing in confusion. "What is his problem? Il te déteste ou quoi? He stares—like—comme un chien abandonné."
Theodore’s heart raced, the words biting deeper than they should’ve. He wasn’t staring—he wasn’t! Just watching. Just—he wasn’t sure what it was.
But Adrien—he huffed out a short, tired laugh, stretching his arms behind him. "Non. Mais—" He tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking, like he was weighing something. "Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants."
Another boy snorted. "C'est triste. Feels like he wants to fight you ou beg for something."
Laughter, casual, and it dug at Theodore, twisting inside him. He could almost hear the amusement in Adrien’s voice—like he knew exactly what he was doing to him. It was infuriating.
But worse, much worse, was the sinking feeling that had settled in his chest. Adrien was playing some game—he always did—but now, it felt different. Every second he spent here, just watching, was another second he was losing control. Losing ground.
Theodore ground his teeth together, the ember of his cigarette flaring briefly with the tightness in his grip. He wasn’t even sure why he was still here—still stuck in this courtyard, pretending he didn’t care. He didn’t need to care.
But you do, a voice in his head whispered, and Theodore slammed it down immediately. No. He didn’t need to do this. He didn’t need Adrien. Didn’t need anything from him. The thought was a bitter taste at the back of his throat.
His gaze had drifted again. Adrien was still there, still with his friends, still being him, laughing, existing like the world had nothing on him. Theodore’s eyes narrowed, but his thoughts felt like they were slipping away, growing foggy, distant. It wasn’t that he wanted to look—he didn’t, not anymore—but his mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything. Every word, every laugh, every glance.
Before he knew it, he was no longer paying attention to anything around him—just lost in the buzz of his own thoughts. Adrien’s presence was like a shadow he couldn’t shake, hovering at the edge of his mind, no matter how much he wanted to push it away.
That was when he felt it.
A shift in the air. A pressure building. Like the ground was vibrating, or the space around him had suddenly grown too small.
Theodore’s heart skipped a beat, a flutter of panic rising in his chest. He hadn’t heard any footsteps—hadn’t seen Adrien moving, hadn’t noticed him leave his friends.
But then—
Adrien’s figure appeared in his peripheral vision, and Theodore’s breath caught in his throat.
He didn’t know how to process it, how to even think about it. Adrien was walking straight toward him, cutting through the space between them like he had every right to.
What the fuck is he doing?
Theodore’s mind raced, panic flooding through him in an instant. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t prepared for this. His fingers tightened around the cigarette, and his pulse quickened as he tried to steady his breath. His thoughts crashed against each other, the sharp throb of confusion making him dizzy.
He didn’t know why it hit him like this. Adrien never approached him like this—never. Not without purpose. Not without making some fucking joke or saying something sarcastic. And now—
Is he coming to confront me? To mock me?
Theodore’s chest tightened at the thought. No. No, that can’t be it. He wouldn’t... would he?
His heart pounded in his ears as he fought the urge to stand up, to run, to hide, to do anything but stay frozen in place. Adrien was still coming closer. Still making his way to him with that effortless stride, like he had all the time in the world.
What the hell does he want?
Theodore’s mind screamed at him to stay calm, but the tension in his body was unbearable. He wasn’t hidden anymore. He couldn’t hide anymore.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t ready for any of it. Not for this moment. Not for whatever Adrien was going to throw at him next. The weight of everything he had been avoiding crashed down on him, and in that moment, all he could think was one thing: I’m not ready.
The frenchman stopped just short of Theodore, standing for a moment as if assessing the space between them. Theodore’s stomach twisted, every instinct telling him to look away, to say something, to do anything but sit there in silence.
Adrien didn’t seem to mind the quiet. With a casual flick of his wrist, he pulled a fresh pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and glanced at Theodore. “You got a light?”
Theodore hesitated, fingers hovering over his own lighter in his pocket - scratching at the engraving. The boy was giving him the most horrid once over - as if judging the sham-confidence that he was trying so hard to convince himself was real. He considered not handing over the lighter—to not say anything at all. But Adrien wasn’t waiting for permission, just standing there, waiting for Theodore to respond.
Finally, Theodore pulled the lighter from his pocket and handed it over. Adrien took it without a word, lighting the cigarette he was balancing between his teeth. As the flame flickered out, he sank down on the bench next to him, taking a deep inhale of the cigarette. He glanced down at the lighter and raised an eyebrow.
“Teo?” Adrien said, his tone teasing, yet genuinely curious. He turned it over in his fingers, inspecting the engraving. “Someone special gave this to you?”
Theodore’s chest tightened. He didn’t answer, couldn’t. The air felt thick, heavy, with Adrien just sitting there— just a a meter away, eyes flicking between him and the lighter, like he knew exactly how to get under Theodore’s skin. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly.
“So,” Adrien said after a moment, the word hanging between them like a challenge. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”
Theodore’s heart skipped a beat. His instincts screamed at him to push back, to protect whatever was left of his pride, but he stayed silent. Adrien’s eyes never left him, his smirk widening.
“You’ve been staring at me like you’re planning my funeral. Is it that bad?” Adrien said casually, taking another drag from his cigarette.
Theodore’s grip tightened around his near-dead cigarette, the ember flaring with his barely restrained irritation. He should say something, anything, but the words were caught in his throat.
Adrien, sensing the tension, continued to poke at him. “Well whatever, it is, it must be bad enough that you've spent the last 3 heures burning holes into my head.”
Theodore’s jaw clenched. He wanted to fight back, to get under Adrien’s skin the way he was doing to him, but the silence between them felt like a trap. Adrien was waiting for something. A reaction. A slip-up. He was playing this game, and Theodore was losing.
The weight of it pressed against his ribs, coiling tight around his lungs, making every breath feel too shallow. The courtyard stretched vast and open around them, but the air between them was thick—choking, stagnant. Something waiting to snap.
A shift of movement. The subtle inhale of someone who had already made up their mind.
Adrien exhaled first. A slow breath through his nose, smoke curling from his lips before he flicked what remained of his cigarette to the ground. The ember sizzled faintly against damp stone, dimming instantly, disappearing.
He didn’t leave.
Instead, he lingered, rolling his shoulders back before tilting his head just slightly—casual, practiced ease masking something sharper beneath the surface.
"So." His voice was light, too light. A forced contrast against the weight pressing down on them. "What’s with the lurking?"
The silence that followed dragged.
It should have been broken by something natural—a scoff, a sigh, any acknowledgment that the words had even been spoken. But nothing came.
No response. No movement.
Just tension, settling deeper, embedding itself into every unspoken second.
Adrien’s fingers twitched. "You know," he continued, tone shifting toward something drier, "if you’re going to stand there and stare at me all night, you could at least pretend to have a reason."
Still, nothing.
Not a single flicker of acknowledgment, save for the way Theodore’s fingers tightened—so slightly it would have been easy to miss—at his sides.
The tell was small. But it was there.
Adrien hummed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Long day?"
A pause.
Theodore’s jaw clenched, a flicker of tension in his shoulders so brief it could have been imagined.
Not an answer. But not nothing, either.
The corner of Adrien’s mouth curled—not in amusement, not really. It was too exasperated for that, too dry. "Or are you just like this now?"
That got a reaction. A sharp inhale, controlled but still noticeable.
Like the comment had landed.
Like it had hit somewhere.
The silence that followed was different. Sharper.
Adrien exhaled, running a slow hand through his hair, the weight of his own patience wearing thin. "Right." He nodded to himself, voice dipping into something lower, something edged with something just slightly irritated. "You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?"
Another pause. Another beat of nothingness stretching too long, stretching so far it started to feel personal.
Adrien didn’t miss the way Theodore’s gaze flickered—not toward him, never toward him—but past him, around him, away from him.
Avoiding.
Not engaging.
Something about that settled wrong in Adrien’s chest.
Because why was this his problem?
Why was he standing here, trying, when the weight of what had gone wrong between Theodore and her had nothing to do with him?
He hadn’t been the one to pull away. He hadn’t been the one to let her think, even for a second, that she wasn’t important enough to fight for.
And yet, somehow, he was the one standing in the cold, dragging words out of someone who clearly had no intention of speaking first.
His fingers twitched at his sides before curling into fists.
Yeah. No.
"Right. You know what?" A step back. A shake of the head. "I’m not doing this."
He turned, already done, already moving.
Then—
"Wait!"
The word came rough. Unsteady.
Like something had slipped before it could be swallowed down.
Adrien stopped.
For a moment, he didn’t turn back.
Didn’t move.
Just let the silence stretch impossibly thin, let the weight of the word sit between them, heavy and unmistakable.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned.
The silence stretched between them, thick with something neither of them wanted to name. Theodore shifted, his jaw clenching as he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to meet Adrien’s gaze. The Frenchman, still standing with his weight lazily shifted to one side, raised a brow, unimpressed.
Adrien let out a breath of laughter, though there was no real humor in it. "What? You gonna keep staring at me like I stole your inheritance, or do you actually have something to say?"
Theodore's fingers twitched at his sides. He wasn’t in the mood for games, but he couldn’t blame Adrien for being like this. Not really. He had spent weeks resenting him, watching him from afar, convincing himself that Adrien was the reason everything had changed. But now, standing here, with no one else to turn to, he found himself swallowing the words that burned in his throat before finally forcing them out.
"I want her to know that I've made the effort—that I've changed. But how do I make her see that?"
Adrien blinked. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then, a slow, exaggerated sigh left his lips, and he ran a hand down his face. "Oh, mon dieu," he muttered, shaking his head. "You cannot be serious. Is this really happening?"
Theodore’s hands clenched into fists. "Just answer the question."
Adrien gave him a long look, and for a second, Theodore thought he was going to walk away. But then, the amusement in Adrien’s eyes dimmed, something steadier settling in its place. He tilted his head slightly, assessing him.
"Why are you asking me?" Adrien asked, his voice quieter now, less sharp. "You must have learnt something in the how many years she's been pining after you."
Theodore swallowed hard. "I—"
Adrien cut in. "You’re just hoping I’ll say something that makes it easier for you, aren't you?"
"And what, let me guess," Adrien exhaled, crossing his arms. "You’ve finally realized you’ve been acting like a complete idiot, and now you’re desperate to fix things. But you don’t know how, and instead of figuring it out yourself, you’re here, asking me for some magic solution to make it all better." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Incroyable."
Theodore stiffened. He deserved that. He knew he did. But the weight in his chest didn’t ease.
Adrien watched him for another long moment, then sighed, his frustration fading just slightly. "You want an answer? Fine. Here’s the truth. You don’t just tell someone you care; you show them. It’s not about words— it’s not about grand apologies or empty promises. It’s about actions."
Theodore stayed silent, absorbing his words.
Adrien’s gaze sharpened. "And you’re not just competing with me. You’re competing with yourself. The version of you she remembers - apparantly the only one she knows. The version of you that made her feel like she wasn’t enough. She needs to see that you’ve changed, not because you’re scared of losing her, but because you want to be better—for her, yes, but also for yourself."
Theodore’s throat felt tight. He had spent so long convincing himself that the problem was Adrien, that it was about who she was spending time with now, that he had ignored the real issue: himself.
Adrien sighed, rolling his shoulders back. "Look, I don’t like you," he said bluntly. "Not after what you put her through. And honestly? I wasn’t sure what kind of person you were. I’ve heard things—seen the way you act. I figured you were just another pureblood Slytherin with nothing real to say. But…" He hesitated, then gave a small shrug. ""She cares about you. For some stupid reason, she does. And because of that, I have to at least try to believe you can be better. But if you don’t—if you mess this up again—I’ll make sure there’s no coming back from it. She means a lot to me, Nott. She’s important. And if you sorting your shit out means she’ll be happy, then fine, I’ll entertain this. But if you hurt her again? I’ll personally make sure you never get the chance to fix it.""
Theodore exhaled, the weight of it settling deep in his chest. "And how do I do that?"
Adrien smirked, though there was a sharp edge to it. "Alright, Nott, let’s break this down. What exactly have you done so far to show her you’ve changed?" He leaned his head back over the bench, waiting. "Go on. Impress me."
Theodore hesitated. "I… talked to Astoria. And Draco. And I—" He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I bought her stuff— apology stuff to show her I thought of her too..."
Adrien let out a slow, dry laugh. "Oh, merveilleux. Let me guess—flowers? Jewelry? Maybe a book she already read three times over?" He clutched his chest dramatically. "Mon dieu, Nott, how could she possibly resist such a display of heartfelt remorse?"
Theodore sat there in silence.
He scoffed, shaking his head. "And you—really—thought that would fix everything? Just throw a bunch of gifts at her and hope she magically forgets how much you hurt her?" He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Brilliant plan, Nott. Truly inspired. Nothing says 'I understand my mistakes' quite like expensive shit."
Adrien exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Tell me, did you even put any thought into it? Or did you just grab whatever looked fancy and hope it would do the talking for you? Because if you think that stacking a pile of presents in front of her like some pathetic shrine to your guilt is going to fix anything—mon dieu, you’re even more clueless than I thought."
Theodore clenched his jaw. "That’s not—"
Theodore looked away, his grip tightening at his sides. The worst part was that Adrien wasn’t wrong.
Adrien sighed, rubbing his temple. "You don’t buy forgiveness, Theodore. You don’t hand her a pile of gifts and expect her to believe you suddenly care. If anything, that just proves you don’t get it. If you want her to see you’ve changed, then you actually have to change." Not just panic and start running to everyone around her hoping they’ll do the work for you. You need to show her—through your actions, not just whatever self-pitying monologue you’ve got running in your head."
Theodore swallowed hard. "And how do I do that?"
Adrien’s smirk returned, but this time, it was less mocking. "Now that, mon ami, is the real question."
The sheets were too warm. Or maybe not warm enough. Every time you tried to settle, your thoughts seemed to slip between the covers with you, circling your mind like an endless, insomniac spiral. It had been like this for days. You rolled over for the fifth time, trying to bury your head in your pillow and ignore the feeling clawing at your chest—frustration, loneliness, the unrelenting ache of missing something you weren’t sure you could have anymore.
You turned again, staring at the shadows that crept along the stone walls of the dormitory, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Sleep wasn’t coming. It hadn’t come in a while.
Your fingers, cold despite the warmth of your blankets, brushed over the edge of your nightgown. Barefoot, you swung your legs off the side of the bed, toes brushing the cool stone floor. The chill hit you like a breath of wind. You stood, the muscles in your legs stiff from lying still for too long, and tugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders.
A quick glance around the room showed no one else awake. Of course, no one else would be—most of the Gryffindors could sleep through anything. But you weren’t like them. Not tonight.
You moved as quietly as possible, pulling your cardigan tighter, but your bare feet met the cold floor with every step, making you wince. You could feel the stone floor beneath your feet, rough and unforgiving, as if each step was a reminder of how disconnected you felt, how off-balance everything seemed lately. The distance between you and the others felt wider with each step you took. Even the castle seemed cold and distant.
Your thoughts circled back to him—Theodore. Even now, after all that had happened, he was still a presence in the back of your mind, unwanted and persistent, like the cold drafts you could never seem to escape. You weren’t ready for anything between you two, not yet, not with all the unsaid things and the space that had grown between you.
Your footsteps echoed softly through the empty halls as you navigated the winding corridors of the castle, your breath a faint mist in the cold air. The walk, though short, seemed to take forever. You had been making this journey for days now, finding solace in the familiar warmth of the kitchens, a place where time seemed to slow down and the usual chaos of Hogwarts didn’t quite reach you. It was just you, and the promise of something warm—something comforting that didn’t require explanation.
The flickering torchlight on the walls illuminated your path, but the shadows of the corridors seemed to stretch endlessly in front of you, like the miles of unspoken words and unfinished conversations between you and Theodore. The thought of him made your stomach churn in the quiet stillness of the castle, but still, you walked. You had to.
When you reached the kitchens, the door creaked as you nudged it open, the sound sharper in the silence of the night. The faint smell of baked goods lingered in the air, mixed with the faint scent of warm milk, a comfort that almost made you forget why you’d come. You stepped in, the door falling gently closed behind you, and your eyes immediately sought the familiar space—the cupboards lined with ingredients, the shelves stacked with cookbooks, the little stove in the corner that you’d grown to love over the years.
Then you froze.
There, standing over the counter, was Theodore.
At first, you thought you’d imagined him, the shadows playing tricks on your eyes, but no, there he was. Theodore, his hair slightly messy from sleep, his eyes bloodshot, and an array of failed attempts strewn across the counter in front of him. Empty mugs sat in a sad pile, some clearly broken, others just abandoned, alongside half-opened packets of hot chocolate powder and bits of chocolate bars that had already started to melt.
Your heart skipped a beat, a strange, sudden mixture of anger and confusion tightening in your chest. Of all places, here. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run or stay. Maybe both. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, cold stone against bare skin, the weight of the situation too much to bear.
You blinked, suddenly self-conscious of your bare feet, the cold air seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your mind was racing—what was he doing here? Why tonight, of all nights? And why this?
Theodore froze at the sound of your steps, his hands hovering over the mess. He stepped back, raising his hands in a motion you knew all too well. “I—I wasn’t trying to invade your personal space or anything,” he muttered quickly, glancing over at you with wide eyes. “I just... well, I know how much you like hot chocolate, and I thought I could... I mean, if you want, I can leave, but I wasn’t trying to—” He trailed off, looking flustered.
The words hit you like a cold wave, leaving a strange, hollow ache in their wake. His presence here, in this moment, felt like an intrusion. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t asked for him to come and try to fix things when there were still so many pieces of the puzzle missing, so many things left unsaid.
Your heart thudded in your chest, your wariness a familiar weight in your stomach. You didn’t respond immediately, unsure how to handle his sudden presence—especially given the quiet, unresolved tension between you. You didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not here. You weren’t sure if you were ready for any of it.
Theodore took another step back, as if to give you space, but his eyes flickered to the counter. “I—I didn’t mean to make a mess. It’s just, well... I’ve never made hot chocolate quite like this before, apparently.” His voice was almost sheepish, as if embarrassed by the sight of all the failed attempts. The mess on the counter felt like a metaphor for everything that had happened between you two—disastrous, messy, and something neither of you knew how to fix.
Your eyes fell on the spilled milk, the chocolate that was now a mess on the counter, the empty mugs—each a reminder of how much he was trying. For a moment, you were torn between the nagging frustration that you still felt for him and the sudden realization that this, this, was a side of him you hadn’t expected to see. And despite yourself, you felt a small crack in the wall you’d built around yourself.
Theodore sighed, rubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not trying to make things weird. Really. I just... I wanted to make it right.” He glanced at you again, his voice softer now. “You’ve been having a lot of... sleepless nights, haven’t you? I thought you might like this.”
For a second, there was a pause. The words hung between you like a fragile thread, neither of you willing to break the silence. The warmth in his voice didn’t match the cold in your chest, but it did something to you—softened the edges just enough for you to acknowledge how much you missed this. Missed him. But you couldn’t let that show. Not yet.
And in that silence, it almost felt like you were both standing in a space that didn’t quite belong to either of you, a place full of warmth, but also memories that were still too fresh.
You stared at Theodore, uncertainty gnawing at you. The kitchen was quiet again, save for the small sounds of his failed attempts, the clink of mugs and the soft, almost imperceptible hiss of milk being heated for another round. The awkwardness of the moment threatened to swallow you, and yet, there was something in his eyes—something familiar—that made you hesitate before retreating.
Finally, you asked, your voice low but sharp. "What are you doing here?"
Theodore blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He looked up, almost embarrassed, and fumbled with the mess on the counter. "Making hot chocolate," he said with a little shrug, like the answer should be obvious.
You shook your head, stepping closer, arms crossed over your chest. You weren’t going to let this go. "Theodore, why are you here?"
For a moment, Theodore just stood there, staring at the ingredients strewn across the counter. He seemed to lose himself in the mess, eyes flicking to the various packets of powder, the chocolate bars, the spilled milk. And then, as though pulled from some deep place within him, his voice was quieter when he spoke again, but no less meaningful. "You used to call me Teo," he said, almost to himself, as if the words were a soft confession.
You felt your chest tighten at the sound of the nickname, the one that had always seemed to carry weight with it. Teo. It was the name you’d whispered to him in a thousand different contexts: while studying, while making coffee, while talking about anything and everything. It had always been a small, simple thing, but hearing it now, in the thick of all this silence, made your heart feel heavy.
"Used to," you said quietly, your voice betraying the fragility you were trying to hide. "But that was a long time ago. It doesn’t—" You stopped yourself, unsure of what you wanted to say. It didn’t matter, but it did. You didn’t know how to untangle your feelings.
Theodore was standing still now, and his gaze was steady, meeting yours. The apology hadn’t come yet, but the way he looked at you made it clear he knew he owed one.
“I thought... I thought I could fix it,” he continued, the words spilling out now like he couldn’t hold them in any longer. "You remember fifth year? When you’d make me hot chocolate while we were studying for hours? You always insisted on putting all that extra sugar in it—whipped cream, marshmallows, the whole thing. I hated how sweet it was, but it was just... the way you made it, you know?" He chuckled softly, but the sound was laced with a touch of bitterness. "And I never had the heart to tell you. I just—well, I’d drink it anyway because you were the one making it. It just... felt like something we did together. Even if it was stupid and small, it was... something."
His voice faltered for a moment, and you could see him struggling to collect his thoughts, the words piling up in his mind. He shook his head as if trying to make sense of the mess, but nothing came out right.
"I guess," he continued, his tone quieter now, more serious, "I thought if I could do something like that again—if I could make you hot chocolate—maybe it would mean something. Maybe it would be enough for you to understand that I... I didn’t mean to mess things up. I know I did. I know I did. But I thought, at least... this... this would be a way to show you that I’m sorry. I don’t know. I just... I couldn’t think of anything else."
The words hung in the air, thick with all the things he hadn’t said, all the things you both had buried under silence and time. His hands hovered over the spilled milk, and for a moment, he seemed lost, his expression tense. You could tell he was trying, but there was no easy way out of this. No easy apology.
“I never thought I’d end up like this,” he continued, his voice thickening. "I know this doesn’t make up for what happened. It doesn’t fix anything. But... I thought, if I could at least do this—if I could make the hot chocolate you always made for me—that maybe it would be enough. At least... at least it would show you that I care."
There was so much emotion in his words—so much regret, so much rawness—that it made you want to look away, but you couldn’t. Your chest tightened, and the lump in your throat grew, because you didn’t know what to feel anymore. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t enough. That it couldn’t be fixed with something so small. But you were frozen, unsure of how to say it without everything else falling apart.
Finally, you spoke, your voice shaky, betraying the turmoil inside. "It’s not enough," you whispered. "Hot chocolate... doesn’t fix everything, Theodore."
He nodded, his eyes flicking down to the counter, avoiding your gaze. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. I just... I wanted to try."
The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy, but not entirely unpleasant. The words weren’t enough, not yet, but maybe there was a chance now. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something different.
The silence between you both felt different now. It wasn’t the oppressive silence of anger, but something quieter, more fragile. The air between you was thick, as though you could almost reach out and touch the distance that had always been there, but never this much. You could hear the soft hiss of milk heating on the stove, the clink of Theodore’s spoon stirring his latest attempt at hot chocolate—sounds that should have felt comforting, familiar, but instead, they only made the room feel colder.
You wanted to break the silence. You needed to. But the words felt stuck somewhere deep inside you, tangled in all the hurt and frustration you’d been carrying for so long. You had no idea how to untangle it all. It was easier to stay silent. Easier to keep your distance.
Your eyes stayed focused on the floor, avoiding his. Because if you looked at him, even for a second, you weren’t sure what you’d do. You could feel the anger still simmering beneath your skin, but there was something else, too. Something you couldn’t name. The ache in your chest grew heavier, but you couldn’t let yourself give in. Not yet.
For a moment, you just stood there, your arms still crossed, trying to gather the strength to speak. Finally, you let out a shaky breath. "I’m not saying it’s fine. It’s... it’s not. What you did... it really hurt, Theodore." The words felt like they came from someone else, but you knew they needed to be said. "I don’t forget things like that. It still hurts."
You could hear Theodore’s breath hitch in the quiet, and you knew he could feel every word in the depths of his gut. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was, you were still hurting, too.
He stayed still, his eyes fixed on you, like he was afraid that if he moved or spoke, he’d make things worse. His mouth opened, then closed, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to say next. You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You couldn’t bear to hear another apology that felt empty.
You didn’t want to admit it, but the weight of everything you'd been holding back felt too much to ignore anymore. “I don’t forget things like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but heavy with the truth of it. “I don’t forget how easily you pulled away, how much it hurt when you didn’t seem to care about me at all. I didn’t expect it to be so easy for you to just move on.” Your throat tightened with the bitterness you couldn’t quite swallow, and you hated how raw you sounded, but it was too late to take it back. “I didn’t think you would just... leave me like that."
"But, Theodore..."
The moment hung there, suspended in time, and you felt the rawness of everything you’d been holding inside finally bubble to the surface. You didn’t know if you could fully forgive him yet, but you weren’t sure you wanted to close the door on this... whatever it was.
You exhaled slowly, as if each breath took a little more of your resolve with it. "I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you murmured, your voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of everything you couldn’t say before. “It’s not just about the words you’ve said or the things you’ve done... it’s more than that. You can’t just make a grand gesture and think it’ll fix everything." You shifted your weight, suddenly unsure of how to make the rest of it come out right. "I... I need to see that this is something you actually care about. Not just in one moment, but over time. You’ve got to show me you can do more than apologize."
Your throat tightened as you struggled to keep yourself steady. "I don’t know if I’m ready to just... forget everything. Maybe I’ll get there, but not right now. I need to see if you really mean it... and I need more than just words."
You closed your eyes for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, the silence wrapping around you like a second skin. It was terrifying. Letting yourself feel all this again. Letting him see the parts of you that you’d buried for so long. But you could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t just apologizing to make it easier. He was really trying.
"I’m willing to let you try," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "But if you leave me down again..."
Theodore was still. His entire body was taut, like he was waiting for something—your rejection, maybe. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, even if his words were tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "I won’t," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "I won’t let you down again. I promise. I... I’ll show you, every day—I’m serious about this."
Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t enough yet. But there was something real in the way he spoke, a sincerity you hadn’t seen in him for so long. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him, even just a little.
Theodore took a step toward you, but he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to move closer. He opened his mouth to speak again, his voice low. "I’m guessing... you’re still not going to tell me how to make the hot chocolate, are you?"
It was the first time in hours that you let a smile slip through. It was small, but it was real—an actual smile, not one you’d forced. "You’ve got to figure that part out on your own, Teo."
He laughed softly, the sound filled with relief and something lighter than the tension that had been hanging between you both. And in that laugh, you could hear the promise. Not that everything would go back to the way it was, but that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something different.
You didn’t have all the answers, and neither did he. But for the first time in a long while, you felt like you didn’t have to do this alone. And that was enough to let you take the first step, even if you weren’t sure what would come next.
Word Count - 19534 [2 to 3 hours of reading time - depending]
Content Warning - Slow burn Angst, Unrequited love, Pining!Reader, Being taken for granted, google-translated italian and french (i am an asian woman, i don’t know a lick of french)
Summary - Loving someone they way you want to be loved, doesn't always mean you will be loved the same way back
A.N. - Writing this whenever I got the chance (which also the same days that I don't speak a word of English). Thanks to ChatGPT for making this readable. Also dividers by @firefly-graphics <3
Poll Results: Literally everyone said to post this "now" (as in 4 days ago "now") but I ended up working 38 hours at my part-time since then so I apologise. Also this was also redrafted about 7 times because I wanted a realistic ending.
Enjoy! <3 (commenting and reblogging feeds the writing gremlin)
Wizards slowly began adopting Muggle holidays sometime around the 18th century. Those living in London found themselves enjoying each little tradition, each celebration the Muggles offered.
Valentine’s Day was one of the latest fads in the British-wizarding forums. Some had said a big-time French socialite had apparently introduced the tradition to his British amour, and since then, the excitement spread through the grapevine. From gifting beautiful, forever-blooming flowers to your beloved, to others frantically checking their Chocolate Frogs were not spiked with Amortentia — young wizards started basking in the celebration of young love (or platonic love for some).
Everyone, except you.
Classmates, dorm mates, and even your own best friends — Joycelin Sweeting and Astoria Greengrass — were ecstatic over the festivities. They had dragged you each weekend leading up to the big day to Hogsmeade and even trekked up to Diagon Alley for the perfect presents for their other halves. You were happy for them.
Truly.
They both had that beautiful twinkle in their eyes — and even though they were the most bubbly, fun-loving duo, you were almost 100% sure that their pupils turned into literal love hearts around their respective partners. Their hair was always curly or wavy (you had read in some book in the library that the magic surrounding a girl in love made their hair wavy for some reason), and their cheeks ached and flushed red with blush. You promised you were happy for them.
You had promised you were fine, telling Astoria to go on her date and reassuring Joycelin that you had more than enough on your plate. (That was a lie.)
The sun had barely risen but the time you sat in the Great Hall, the low chatter of students around you creating a hum that felt more distant than comforting. The flickering candles overhead cast shadows that danced lazily across the table, but you could not focus on the warmth. You felt the coldness inside you, a familiar emptiness that had settled in your chest ever since things had started to change. You could not help feeling sorry for yourself. Sitting here, on the morning of Valentine’s Day, seemingly the only student sitting alone. The dining hall was already quiet as it was, with many students opting for more romantic settings.
Your eyes flickered to the Slytherin table, your gaze inevitably falling on Theodore. He was there, of course, just like he always was, wrapped up in the world he had created around himself. The world that no longer seemed to have much space for you.
You could feel the ache settle into your bones, a quiet reminder of everything that had gone wrong—or seemingly, what seem to have disappeared over the winter break. It was not that he did not notice you; it was that he seemed to look through you these days. Every time you tried to get close, tried to bridge the growing chasm between the two of you, he had backed away, like you were not worth the effort.
And that was it. You were not worth the effort.
Theodore’s eyes did not meet yours now, and you were not sure if it was out of avoidance or simple disinterest. He had the same nonchalant air about him, speaking to the people around him in a tone that was not sharp, but cold enough to make you feel it in your gut. His friends, his fellow Slytherins, hung on the few words he said, laughing and teasing with ease. They did not know the quiet pain you felt just from being in the same room with him.
You turned your attention back to your plate, pushing food around without really touching it. The silence between you and him had become more deafening with each passing day. You tried to ignore it, to accept that it was what it was, but that did not stop the small part of you, the part that still hoped, from holding on.
A sharp pang of disappointment twisted in your chest as you watched a few girls from the other end of the table approach Theodore. Their laughter rang in the air, a sound that was light and carefree, like the weight of everything was irrelevant. You knew how they looked at him. You had seen it before. He was everything they admired—charming in a nonchalant type of way, and, for every reason you had been drawn to him in the first place, they couldn’t get enough of him.
A wave of frustration washed over you. You wanted to get up, leave this place where you felt so invisible, but the more you tried to retreat into yourself, the more desperate you were for Theodore to reach out for you.
But just as you were about to turn back to your breakfast, a voice broke through the quiet hum of the hall, this one different — more polite and genuinely warm.
Theodore was halfway through taking a bite of his toast when a voice rang out, light and sweet, carrying through the quiet of the hall, uninvited and unwelcome. “Theo, you are coming to the party tonight, aren’t you?”
The girl who spoke was one of those faces you often saw in the Slytherin corridor but never paid much attention to. A pleasant sort of girl, pretty enough, but always with a crowd. She had the kind of attention that came effortlessly, like a polished stone that had been smoothed by years of admiration. Her soft blonde curls bounced around her face as she leaned toward Theodore, her eyes wide with the warmth of something unfamiliar to you, something that felt a little too bright, too alive.
Her voice, though melodic, carried a subtle undertone of expectation. “It’s going to be fun,” she added with a smile, drawing the words out as though she was fishing for an answer. She did not care about the casualness of the conversation; she knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingers brushed lightly against Theodore’s sleeve as she spoke, and you could almost see the way her confidence bloomed in the space between them, wrapping around him as if they were already connected.
Theodore looked up slowly, his gaze flicking toward her, but the moment his eyes met hers, he seemed to settle into a practiced nonchalance. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was not the kind that reached his eyes. He gave a slight nod, still not meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he replied, his voice cool and flat, the same as it always was these days. Detached.
The girl beamed, as if the words were all she had wanted, but before she turned to go, she finally, almost reluctantly, glanced your way. Her eyes lingered on you for the briefest moment, as if she just remembered you were there, as if you had somehow faded into the background of the conversation she had been having with Theodore. It was not an unkind look, just distant — as though acknowledging your presence now was an afterthought.
“Oh,” she said, the pitch of her voice softening just a touch. “What about...” She slowly turned her head to your table. Her smile was kind, but it lacked warmth, like a perfunctory gesture more than a genuine inquiry.
You blinked, suddenly aware of the space between you and Theodore. The hall became so much larger than you had imagined, yet feeling narrower and overwhelming at the same time. You wanted him to say yes—better yet, walk down that endless hall to ask for your opinion. But you were also terrified. You did not want to admit that the very thought of being around people, of pretending to be something you were not, made your chest tighten. At this point, there was no telling what kind of relationship existed between you both. Your thoughts were swarming you these past couple of weeks— with one that had been quietly overcoming your mind for weeks, months now. You wanted to be seen— wanted to be wanted, even if just for a fleeting moment.
But before you could speak, Theodore’s voice cut through the tension, his words sharper than usual. “You know her,” he said, his tone distant and dismissive, “she’s not really a party person.”
And just like that, the words sank into your skin, prickling with discomfort. It was not a lie, not exactly, but it felt wrong. There was a bitter edge to it, something unspoken that settled over the dining hall like a growing storm. You were not a party person, no. But that was not the real reason you’d rather stay away. The truth was more complicated, more suffocating, and Theodore was too busy with his own distractions to notice.
The girl smiled again, this time with a hint of pity that stung more than it comforted. “I see,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer, almost apologetic, but you could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips. “I mean, no matter- we can always have fun for her. Right?”
She turned on her heel, slipping into the crowd of students with ease, leaving you in the quiet bubble of awkwardness that you had somehow found yourself in. The weight of his dismissal hung heavy in the air, suffocating you, even though he was not looking at you. His focus had already shifted to his friends, already lost in the rhythm of the day, and you felt the distance between you grow even wider.
You could not help but glance at him again, watching him talk to the group of Slytherins across the table, his face set in a way that looked practiced, familiar. His eyes never once flickered toward you. The indifference stung more than anything. He had done this before, turned his attention elsewhere, as if you were no longer worth the effort.
There was a knot in your stomach, tight and unyielding. It was hard to breathe around it, but you did not dare let it show. You did not dare let anyone see how much it hurt.
You knew better than to try and get his attention, though. You had learned long ago that when Theodore was not looking at you, nothing you did would change it. So you turned your gaze back to your untouched plate, pushing the remaining food around as if it could give you something to focus on, something to fill the hollow space.
The longer you sat there, the heavier the weight in your chest became — suffocating, relentless. The pitying look from that girl lingered in your mind, curling uncomfortably around your thoughts. It was not just the way she’d glanced at you like an afterthought — it was how right Theodore’s words had felt, how easily they’d seemed to confirm something you’d been trying to ignore for weeks.
You are not really a party person.
The words repeated in your head, twisting and distorting until they felt less like a passing comment and more like some unspoken truth — one you could not shake. It was not just that you did not belong at parties. It felt like you did not belong anywhere. Not with your friends, who had drifted into their own little worlds of whispered conversations and excited plans. Not with Theodore, who barely looked at you anymore — and if he did, it was only to find some way to push you further away.
And it was your own fault, was it not?
Your friends had tried — really tried — to keep you close. Joycelin and Astoria had spent weeks begging you to come with them — to Hogsmeade, to the common room, even just to sit with them in the Great Hall. They had coaxed you with warm smiles and reassurances that you’d have fun, but you never did. You could never quite shake the feeling that you were just… there. A shadow lingering behind them, dulling the brightness of their excitement.
It had reached the point where you almost felt guilty for saying yes — because each time you did, you could see it in their eyes. That flicker of hesitation, that subtle change in the air when you sat beside them. As though they were quietly waiting for you to dampen the mood.
You knew they loved you — you knew that. But sometimes love was not enough to stop you from feeling like a burden.
You wondered when it had happened — when you had become this person. The one who sat quietly at the edge of things, watching her friends smile and laugh from somewhere she could no longer reach. The one who had once been so full of warmth, now cold and withdrawn, retreating deeper into herself with each passing day.
It was not that you did not want to fight for what you once had — for Theodore, for your friends, for yourself. It was that you did not know how.
Because the truth was, you were tired — tired of trying to pretend that you were fine, tired of convincing yourself that this hollow feeling was not swallowing you whole. And most of all, you were tired of caring so much when it felt like no one seemed to care about you.
A dull ache settled behind your eyes, and you swallowed hard, blinking quickly to push the feeling down. You did not have the energy to fall apart — not here, not now. Instead, you kept your head low, eyes fixed on your plate as you tried to shrink into the silence, as if that might somehow make everything hurt a little less.
Just as you were about to sink back into your own thoughts, another voice broke through the fog of disappointment. The sudden shift in tone was enough to catch you off guard.
“Excuse me, are you… Y/N, right?”
The voice pulls you from your thoughts. You blink, not expecting to hear anyone speaking to you. When you look up, you are met with a pair of eyes. His eyes, a striking shade of blue, seem to gleam with an unexpected warmth. He stands there, leaning casually against the bench, his posture effortlessly confident. His dark hair, not quite as dark as Theodore’s but with a similar tousled quality, seems to catch the light in all the right places, and you can tell it’s the sort of hair that naturally falls into place, no matter what.
Adrien Delacroix.
His features are distinctively sharp, but there is a softness to them, too. He has a smile that feels almost practiced, easy, as if it is a shield he is worn a thousand times. His bone structure is different from Theodore’s—more delicate, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that seems to be chiseled perfectly. He’s stood there, looking down at you with an easy smile that barely hides his curiosity. He is tall—definitely taller than most guys in your year—and his gaze is steady, almost like he’s trying to read you.
The thought hits you immediately, almost involuntarily. What does he want?
You manage a quiet nod. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”
You blink again, not sure what to say next, but Adrien doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation. You hate how small your voice sounds, especially compared to Adrien’s friendly tone. You immediately wish you could say something more—something to make this interaction feel less awkward, but your words feel like they’re stuck somewhere deep in your chest.
“I thought I… ah…” He pauses briefly, brow creasing as he searches for the right word. “Reconnu — recognised you,” he corrects himself, his accent curling softly around the syllables. He leans casually against the table, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’m in a couple of your classes, and I’ve seen you around… but I’ve never had the chance to actually talk to you.”
He pauses for a moment, his hand lifting to push a strand of dark hair behind his ear with the same effortless grace that seems to define him. The way his accent lingers, slightly melodic and smooth as it dances in his words, makes you feel different. There’s something about him that feels different, refined—but not in an obvious, boastful way. Just in the way he holds himself, the subtle lift of his chin, the quiet confidence that lingers even in the simplest gestures.
“History of Magic, right?” Adrien asks, as if pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ve been in my class the last few weeks… I think I sit behind you.”
Your heart beats a little faster, and a flush creeps up your neck. Adrien notices, a quick flash of amusement crossing his face, but he does not make a big deal out of it.
You force a smile, nervous and unsure. “I dunno… I sleep through most of it.”
His lips twitch as he laughs softly, his voice rich, and the sound catches you off guard. “Vraiment? Really?” he says, his grin widening. “You should definitely stay awake. It’s fascinating stuff.” His tone is teasing, but there’s something more in his eyes — something that almost makes you wonder if he’s being sincere.
“I—I’ll try,” you murmur, pulling your sleeves down further, hiding your hands in the folds of your robes. You are not used to this, not used to being noticed like this. Especially not by someone like Adrien, who seems to draw people’s attention without even trying.
You cannot help but notice the way his eyes linger on you for just a moment too long before he blinks and looks away. It’s a small thing, but it sends your heart racing, and you cannot figure out why.
He leans in slightly, his voice lowering a little. “You’ve got that quiet thing going on… makes you seem a bit… mystérieuse.” His lips twitch with a small smile. “It’s cute.”
The words hit you like a shockwave. Cute. The simplicity of it, the way it feels like a compliment that doesn’t carry any weight behind it, makes your chest tighten. It’s not an insult, but something about it makes you feel exposed, like you don’t deserve the attention he’s giving you. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who could be “cute,” not the way the other girls are. You’ve spent so long hiding in the shadows, and now someone like Adrien is standing in front of you, treating you like you are someone worth noticing.
You do not know how to respond, so you just nod, suddenly feeling even more awkward. You can’t help it, your mind races with the thought that maybe he’s just being polite. Or maybe he’s just like the others who like to talk to you out of some weird obligation before moving on to something—or someone—else.
Adrien tilts his head, and for a moment, you are not sure if he’s trying to figure you out or if he’s just watching you. His lips twitch into a smile again, this time a little more knowing. “Well, if you ever need someone to keep you awake in History of Magic, I’m happy to help.”
You try not to smile, but the way his gaze lingers on you, the way he speaks, it’s hard not to. He seems genuine, yet you wonder how much of that is just the way he is—easy, charming, and unbothered.
“Or maybe we could catch up on what you’ve missed in the library?” He smiles, “I noticed you usually run off there as soon as Binns finishes.”
You shift slightly, the discomfort rising in your stomach. “I don’t usually spend much time in the library,” you say, almost apologetically, though you know it’s not entirely true. You’ve been there often, especially in the past few weeks, lingering in corners, trying to lose yourself in the quiet. You’ve seen Adrien there before, too, always focused, always absorbed in his reading. But you don’t mention that. It feels too intimate somehow, like acknowledging his presence would make this interaction even more real.
Adrien’s eyes soften as if he can see through your discomfort. He doesn’t push, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s actually paying attention to you—or just looking for something to fill the silence. He shifts, stepping a little closer, the air between you thick with something unspoken.
“I get that,” he says, his smile growing a little more genuine. “Hogwarts can be… eh… accablant… too much, no?” He chuckles softly. “I’ve only been here a little while, and I’m still figuring out where everything is.” His words are easy, his tone casual, like he’s trying to make you feel less out of place. You can tell he’s trying to make this conversation feel natural, but you can’t help but feel like you are failing at being natural, like every word that leaves your mouth is a stilted attempt to keep up.
You want to say something, to let him in, but the words feel wrong. Why is he even talking to me? You want to scream it, want to ask him why someone like him—who clearly fits in with all the bright, shiny faces at Hogwarts—would want to talk to someone like you. You are used to being on the outside, used to standing in the back while others take the spotlight. And here is Adrien, offering you a sliver of attention like it’s no big deal. You don’t know what to make of it.
But then he continues, his voice slipping back into that light, teasing tone. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while, actually. I just didn’t know how to approach you though—thought it might be best find away to do it differently…”
You freeze, caught off guard by the statement. Differently? It feels like a compliment, but it also feels like a judgment. You never meant to be unreachable. Is he saying I’m weird? You can’t stop the flash of insecurity that rises in your chest. You are not sure whether to thank him for the words or shrink away in embarrassment. You barely know him, yet somehow, his words feel like they’ve carved into you in ways you are not ready for.
“Hey — I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Adrien adds, as though sensing the shift in the air. “I just thought… maybe we could hang out sometime? I mean, I’ve seen you around, and you don’t seem like the type to just…” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly as he mutters, “Comment on dit… ah…” His fingers drum lightly on the table as he thinks. “Go with the flow?,” he finishes, a little unsure but still smiling. “You seem… hmm… like someone who thinks for herself. I thought it’d be nice to get to know you.”
The offer feels too big, too much for someone like you to take in, like a question you are not sure you are allowed to answer. You want to say no, to tell him it’s fine and you are used to being alone, but there’s a small part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s being honest.
Before you can figure out what to say, Adrien’s smile softens, and he steps back, giving you a little more space. “I’ll see you around then?” His voice is lighter, not pushing, but still there, lingering.
You sit there, watching him walk away, still unsure whether his invitation was just a formality, something said to pass the time, or if he genuinely meant it. You don’t know. You don’t know him, not really, but the thought of being wanted, of being seen by someone like him, leaves you feeling both lighter and heavier all at once.
You can’t shake the comparison in your mind—the way Theodore’s presence always felt heavy, like there was something between you that you could not name. But with Adrien, it’s different. He’s easy. He doesn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen, like Theodore did. And yet, you feel unsettled, unsure if you should let yourself enjoy this attention.
But why would someone like him be interested in someone like me? You can’t shake the doubt, the feeling that this is all too good to be true.
The first few days after Adrien introduced himself passed with little fanfare. You found yourself thinking back to his words, but they felt like little more than a fleeting moment in the midst of your usual routine. School was still a whirlwind—lessons, assignments, and the ever-present hum of your friends dragging you along, their chatter and laughter filling up the corners of your days. You barely had time to notice the absence of anything new.
It was only in the quieter moments, when you found yourself alone with your thoughts, that Adrien’s voice would drift back into your mind. “It was nice talking to you.”
You weren’t sure why it lingered. He’d said it casually, a throwaway comment as if it was no different from any other greeting. But it was different. You weren’t used to being treated like that. It was a small thing, but in a life that had felt so filled with noise and obligation, it felt like a small light. Yet you pushed it aside. You didn’t know him. He was a stranger, no matter how pleasant.
Days passed, and you carried on as usual. You caught glimpses of him in the halls occasionally, but he never approached you again. You hadn’t expected him to, really. And you didn’t know what you would have done if he had.
But then, a few days later, you were walking down the corridor on your way to the library, a pile of books pressed tightly against your chest. You had your mind on your homework and what you had left to do that afternoon.
As you passed a corner near the library’s entrance, you nearly collided with someone. You glanced up, startled, and there he was—Adrien, his warm eyes locking onto yours as though he’d been expecting to see you. He stepped back just in time, allowing you to continue walking.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Hi,” you answered, a little caught off guard, though you couldn’t quite place why. His smile was warm, genuine, and it did something strange to your heart—a soft flutter that you quickly buried under a sense of confusion. Why did it feel different when he smiled at you?
“I was actually heading to the library, too,” Adrien continued, his words stumbling slightly before he found the right phrasing. “I… uh… if you, uh, don’t mind, maybe I could… walk with you?”
His words came out with a slight hesitation, but his smile remained steady. You caught a soft ‘D’accord’ under his breath, as if he had been about to say something before stopping himself.
You didn’t answer immediately, unsure why it felt so difficult. But then you just shrugged. What harm could it do? It wasn’t like you had to say yes, but his offer felt casual enough—so you nodded.
“Sure, why not.”
The walk wasn’t long. You had a few moments of awkward silence, your footsteps echoing slightly in the hallway. But Adrien didn’t seem bothered by it. He didn’t try to fill the silence with pointless chatter, as some people would. He just walked beside you, the occasional glance in your direction almost like an invitation to speak, but never pushing for it.
When you arrived at the library, you felt an odd sense of… expectation. But why? You weren’t sure, and you couldn’t figure it out. He hadn’t even asked to sit with you. And yet, when you found a quiet corner, Adrien dropped down across from you with a casual air, pulling out a few books from his bag. You didn’t speak much at first, but the way he settled next to you, not intruding on your space but in a way that made you aware of him, was somehow comforting.
You focused on your work, but there were moments when you found yourself glancing up at him. His eyes were always so soft, always paying attention to the books in front of him, but you could tell that sometimes he looked at you, too. It was subtle, but it was there. He was careful, though, and never pressed you. You never felt like you were being watched. But there was something there, something unspoken.
It wasn’t like you’d thought anything would happen, but somehow, you felt a little lighter in the moments you shared with him, even if they were silent. You told yourself it was just the solitude of the library making it feel that way, nothing more.
The next few days followed a similar rhythm. Adrien continued to show up, not in an overwhelming way, but in the way of someone who was content with simply sharing space. You’d find him walking beside you in the halls, or—more often than not—he’d be sitting across from you in the library, quietly reading. Some days, he’d nod in your direction, offering a small, knowing smile. Other times, he would remain absorbed in his books, but you’d catch a glance his way, and his eyes would flicker toward yours before he quickly returned to what he was doing.
You still didn’t know how to feel about it. You weren’t used to the attention. It wasn’t anything grand or demanding, and maybe that’s why it unsettled you. Maybe it felt too easy. And maybe that was why you kept waiting for the moment it would end—waiting for the point where you’d both go your separate ways, like you always had before.
But that moment didn’t come.
A week passed, then two. Adrien didn’t disappear, but his presence began to feel familiar. Not in a bad way, but in the way that something small can slowly start to settle into your life without you quite realising it. You found yourself moving through your days in that strange mix of normalcy and anticipation.
By the third week, he’d started sitting next to you before you even had a chance to settle in. No longer waiting for an invitation, he simply dropped down next to you, book in hand. The quiet exchanges—small smiles, the soft rustle of pages turning—began to feel almost like a routine. Not something you had to think about.
And then, one day, he spoke up as you were gathering your things.
“I was thinking of going outside to study today,” Adrien said, looking at you as if the question were almost an afterthought. “Would you like to join me? The grounds look quieter with it being a little colder, no?”
You blinked, a little thrown off by the suggestion. You’d never thought of studying outdoors, especially when it was getting colder, but you couldn’t help but feel the soft pull of the invitation. There was something about the way he asked—it wasn’t pressure. It wasn’t forceful. It was simply an offer, the kind of offer you didn’t often get. No one had ever asked you to just be there, to sit in the open air and study without some ulterior motive.
“Uhm… yeah, sure,” you said, almost before you thought about it.
Adrien gave you a soft smile in response, and you noticed the faintest ‘Merci’ slip from his lips, as though he was thankful you’d agreed.
You couldn’t help but notice how your heart beat a little faster as you walked with him to the grounds, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your shoes, the crispness of the air making your breath visible in the autumn light. Adrien didn’t speak much during the walk, but there was an ease to it. A peaceful silence that you didn’t mind. You sat together on the grass, your books spread out in front of you, and for a few moments, the world just… slowed down.
The next few weeks felt much the same—slow, but different in a way that you couldn’t quite explain. You and Adrien started meeting more often, sometimes in the common room, other times out by the grounds. Conversations that had once felt awkward or forced now came more naturally. You weren’t always talking, but there was a sense of comfort in simply being near him.
You also started to notice the little things. Sometimes, when you were walking to class, Adrien would fall in step beside you. And not just to the library or the grounds, but even to places you didn’t have class together. You found yourself looking up, seeing his warm smile as he walked with you—just there, beside you. It wasn’t a big gesture, but there was something so simple and steady about it. You didn’t have to ask. He was just there.
Occasionally, he would notice you struggling with your bag or books, and without a second thought, Adrien would take them from you.
“Here,” he’d say, ‘Mon dieu,’ he’d mutter under his breath as he adjusted the weight, realising it was more than he anticipated. “I might have underestimated that.”
His touch was gentle, but firm, and his eyes always met yours with that same warm, effortless kindness. It wasn’t anything big, but it made you feel strangely cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.
And then, one day, you realised you were no longer simply meeting him in the library or on the grounds. Adrien had started showing up outside of those places, walking you to and from your classes. Even when you didn’t have class together, you’d find him walking beside you. Sometimes, you’d talk, sometimes not. But you always felt… lighter, more grounded with him by your side.
By the fifth week, something had changed. You were running late, as usual. You rushed through the hallways, trying to make it to Potions class on time, your bag slung over your shoulder and your books clutched tightly in your arms. You were almost there when you heard Slughorn’s voice, carrying through the door as he gave his typical greeting.
“Settle down, everyone!” Professor Slughorn’s booming voice echoed, followed by his characteristic chuckle. “We’re about to begin!”
You pushed the door open quickly, slipping inside the classroom and feeling a rush of embarrassment. As you entered, your eyes immediately searched for a spot. The room was buzzing with conversation, but the first thing you noticed was Theodore’s desk—his books already neatly arranged on the surface. He was speaking to a group of students, laughing softly, not yet noticing you.
Your gaze flicked over to the other side of the room, where Adrien was sitting alone. His posture was relaxed, his usual calm expression on his face. He seemed unaware of the subtle tension you felt, but when his eyes met yours, there was a flicker of warmth, a quiet understanding between you both that had grown stronger over the past few weeks.
You hesitated for a moment. Theodore’s desk was set up just a few feet away, and yet, it felt so distant. You swallowed, glancing back at Adrien, who was looking at you with that familiar, soft smile.
You took a few steps toward his desk, feeling your heart race a little. Your thoughts collided in a whirlwind—Should I? Will it be okay? You were almost at his side when you stopped, unsure. Was it too bold, too sudden?
“Is it… okay if I sit here?” you asked quietly, your voice small but sincere, the question almost slipping out before you could stop it.
Adrien’s face lit up, his smile widening with ease. There was no hesitation in his response. “Of course,” he said, his accent slipping through just a bit as he added, “It’s… it’s more than okay.”
The words had a warmth that settled in your chest. You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was something comforting about the way he made you feel, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
You slid into the seat beside him, your books still clutched in your lap, and glanced at the front of the room where Slughorn was still greeting the class. Your thoughts, however, lingered on the quiet space between you and Adrien. You couldn’t help but notice how easy it felt to sit next to him, how his presence made the world feel just a little bit softer.
Adrien shifted a little closer to his desk, leaning slightly in your direction as he began to unpack his things, but not too much—just enough to let you know he was there. It was subtle, but it made you feel less alone. You were here, in this moment, and for some reason, it felt like it mattered.
You settled into your seat, feeling the class start to hum around you as Slughorn continued his instructions. The words were a distant background noise now, and for a brief moment, you felt as though the world outside of this room had faded away. You were no longer rushing to catch up or trying to keep pace with your thoughts. You were just here, with Adrien, and it felt… easy.
The days had started to drag on, and with each one, the sense that something was off between you and Theodore Nott grew heavier. He couldn’t pinpoint it at first. There hadn’t been a single moment where you had argued or said anything that would cause him to doubt things between you. It was all the little things—the quiet shifts in your behaviour that he couldn’t ignore.
At first, he tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just the usual school pressure. Everyone was busy, and he knew you had other commitments, other friends. But the more he thought about it, the more something didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been by his side in the usual places—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall.
Theodore had always found comfort in those small, predictable routines you shared. The moments where you’d sneak into the library early, books scattered around the table as you both tried to get ahead on your assignments. The way you’d meet up in the courtyard after class, sharing a quiet moment before heading off to your next lesson. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it was your time, and it made everything feel familiar, safe, like the world around you could be chaotic, but at least you had that.
But now, it was as if those small moments had slipped away. You weren’t there waiting for him, and you weren’t with him when he expected you to be. At first, it was easy to ignore. But then, one morning, when he entered the dining hall, he caught sight of you. And his heart sank.
You were sitting with Adrien Delacroix.
It wasn’t that you weren’t allowed to sit with him—it was more that it was so different. You weren’t sitting with him like usual. You hadn’t even looked in his direction when he walked in. You and Adrien were talking, laughing, your heads bent close together as you shared some private joke.
Theodore’s eyes narrowed. Okay, he thought. It’s nothing. You were just talking to Adrien. He had no right to be bothered by it. It’s not like you weren’t friends with him. But still—something about it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel normal.
He tried to ignore it as he sat down at his usual spot, forcing himself to focus on his food, but the image of you and Adrien stayed in his mind. He pushed it down, telling himself it was nothing, but the feeling lingered, twisting in his chest.
Days passed, and it didn’t get better. It only seemed to get worse.
Theodore started to notice more subtle things. Like how you always seemed to be in the places that were once yours—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall. And each time, you weren’t with him. You were with Adrien.
It wasn’t just that. You weren’t sitting where you usually did anymore. In the library, you used to sit next to him, always the quiet corner by the window where the light slanted just right. But now, when he walked in, you were already there—across the room, seated next to Adrien, books laid out in front of you both, engrossed in whispers of conversation.
The first time it happened, Theodore had walked in expecting to find you at the usual spot, but you weren’t there. He scanned the room quickly, his heart sinking when he finally saw you. And Adrien.
The feeling in his chest shifted—unsettled, uncomfortable—as he walked past you both, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than it should. You hadn’t looked up, not even when he passed. It was almost like you hadn’t noticed him at all.
The second time it happened, it was during lunch. The same table. The same seats. But again, you weren’t sitting with him. You and Adrien were deep in conversation, the two of you leaning toward each other, laughing about something that seemed to have nothing to do with him.
Theodore sat down, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. And when he did, his eyes would flicker to Adrien, to the way you smiled at him. It’s fine, he told himself again. You and Adrien were friends. But it didn’t feel fine. It didn’t feel right. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being pushed out of the space you once shared.
He couldn’t quite put it into words, but it hurt.
The courtyard was the same. He had always expected to see you there, waiting for him, ready to talk about whatever was on your mind. But more often than not, you were already with Adrien.
It was small at first—those little moments when you weren’t there—but it was consistent. It was happening so often now, he couldn’t ignore it.
Theodore’s eyes followed you from across the courtyard. You were walking with Adrien again, your arms swinging lightly at your sides as you exchanged easy words with him. It wasn’t just that you were walking together—it was how naturally it seemed to come to you. There was no hesitation, no wariness. You were laughing at something Adrien had said, your body language open and comfortable.
Theodore felt a twinge in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. Or maybe it was. He couldn’t quite sort through the jumble of emotions.
You had been so quiet with him lately. But here, with Adrien, you were lighthearted, carefree. So different. It stung.
He’d caught glimpses of this before, bits and pieces—your laughter a little louder when Adrien was around, your smiles more frequent. But seeing it like this, with the two of you walking side by side, so effortlessly close, made it feel… final.
The weight of the past few weeks pressed on him then—the subtle shift, the moments when he’d felt you slipping away without even realising why. You used to seek him out, find excuses to talk to him, to share your thoughts, even your silence. But recently… it had been different. More distant. More reserved.
And then, as if to confirm his suspicions, he saw you—laughing, your eyes bright as you interacted with Adrien and a group of friends. You were introducing Adrien to them, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you made some joke. Astoria and Draco were laughing along, their approval written across their faces. They exchanged knowing looks, their smiles stretching in approval at the ease with which you were interacting with Adrien.
Theodore stopped, watching from the edge of the group, unnoticed. His breath caught in his chest. You were so at ease around him. So different. Your laughter wasn’t strained or forced. It was free. Unburdened. It didn’t take much to see how much more comfortable you were around Adrien than you were with him.
You were surrounded by your friends—laughing, joking, pulling Adrien into the conversation with ease. Their eyes flickered between you two, and he saw them exchange smiles, clearly pleased with the dynamic between you. As if they were glad to see you so happy.
Theodore’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Was this what you were becoming? The person you were without him?
The contrast was sharp. There you were, surrounded by people who seemed to appreciate you, who saw the side of you that he hadn’t seen in weeks. That he’d stopped seeing.
He couldn’t remember when things had started to shift. When had you pulled away? When had Adrien stepped into the spaces that were once his?
His heart ached with the realisation that you were no longer the person he shared these moments with. You weren’t the same. And worse still, it was clear you didn’t need him the way you had before.
But how had it happened? He thought, watching you, his mind spiralling.
By the time Potions class rolled around, the feeling had only grown worse. Theodore had arrived early, as he often did, hoping to settle in before the class began. He made his way to the table you usually sat at, gathering his books and preparing for the lesson, but he was soon called over by a classmate.
He gave the table one last glance before walking over, but something gnawed at him. He hadn’t seen you yet. Was she late again?
He thought nothing of it, you usually took a nap before Thursday’s potions class—often finding an empty nearby classroom to get yourself 20 minutes of sleep.
When Slughorn called for everyone to sit down, Theodore returned to the table, expecting you to already be there, as usual. He looked up, ready to greet you with a casual smile, only to pause to realise the seat was empty. He became confused.
Was she ill? Is she okay?
As he took his seat, he started twisting and turning, looking for all the other possible entrances—waiting for your hectic entrance. His heart dropped as his eyes landed on you—sitting with Adrien. Right there, on the other side of the classroom, with someone who wasn’t him. He blinked, almost thinking he had seen wrong, but no—the reality didn’t change. You were sitting beside him, your focus flicking between Slughorn and Adrien.
Theodore froze , his breath caught in his chest. At first, his mind registered the strange emptiness in his stomach, like something was missing. And then, his thoughts shifted.
She’s okay. Just not with me.
The words in his head felt like they were slowing down as he settled on his stool, trying to gather his thoughts. You and Adrien, already engrossed in a conversation, hadn’t even noticed him yet. His confusion only grew as he glanced at your table, trying not to show how the tightness in his chest was making it hard to breathe. Why weren’t you sitting with him?
Theodore’s grip on his quill tightened until his knuckles whitened. It had been weeks since you’d sought him out, and now… now, it was like he didn’t even exist in the spaces you once shared.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something had changed.
Theodore had never considered himself an impatient person. He knew how to wait. He had spent years perfecting the art of watching, observing, and keeping his emotions neatly in check, tucked away beneath layers of carefully constructed indifference.
But right now, sitting in this godforsaken Potions lesson, he felt like he was unraveling.
His grip on his quill was tight, the feathered tip bending slightly under the pressure of his fingers. He forced himself to focus on the instructions, on the slow, deliberate movements of slicing up the ginger roots in front of him. But his hands were tense, his shoulders stiff, his entire body wound so tightly that he thought if someone so much as breathed wrong in his direction, he might snap.
He had been watching you. He hated that he had been watching you.
But how could he not?
You were right there, just a few feet away, your head tilted toward Adrien, your expression soft in a way that Theodore hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. The two of you worked side by side, close enough that your elbows brushed every now and then, and each time it happened, you didn’t flinch away. Didn’t seem to mind at all.
It was infuriating.
He didn’t understand it—this shift, this change, the way you had slipped out of his grasp so seamlessly that he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.
Maybe that was the worst part.
He could still remember the way things used to be—the way you used to seek him out, even when he wasn’t looking for you. The way you’d drop into the seat beside him without a second thought, a quiet presence that had never felt intrusive, never felt unwelcome. The way you had once laughed with him, not the way you did with Adrien now, but in a way that had been just for him.
But that version of you was gone, wasn’t it?
Theodore’s jaw clenched, and before he could stop himself, his fingers tightened around his quill—too tight.
The wood snapped between his fingers with a sharp crack.
A few students turned at the noise, but Theodore didn’t move. He barely even registered the ink that dripped onto his parchment, spreading into dark, messy blotches. His pulse was hammering against his ribs, a steady, unrelenting rhythm that did nothing to soothe the weight pressing against his chest.
He had to get a grip.
He forced his fingers to relax, letting the broken pieces of his quill drop onto the desk. He exhaled slowly, but it didn’t make a difference. The irritation still clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting.
He was tired of this. Tired of pretending that it didn’t matter, tired of convincing himself that it didn’t get to him every time he saw Adrien carrying your books, or walking beside you like he had always belonged there.
Because he hadn’t.
That was Theodore’s place.
Or at least—it had been.
He hadn’t been able to talk to you properly in weeks. Not because he didn’t want to. He did. He wanted to find you alone, wanted to pull you aside, wanted to demand answers that he wasn’t even sure he could put into words.
But every time he tried, Adrien was there.
It was infuriating how easily the other boy had slid into your life, how effortlessly he had taken up space that should have been Theodore’s.
He had tried to tell himself that he was being irrational. That there was no reason to feel like this, no reason to let something as simple as your choice of company bother him.
But it did.
It fucking did.
And what made it worse—what made it unbearable—was that you didn’t seem to notice.
You didn’t notice how he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention.
Didn’t notice the way his hands curled into fists every time Adrien slung an arm around your shoulder.
Didn’t notice the way he had started walking slower in the hallways, lingering just long enough to see if you’d turn to him, if you’d say something, anything.
But you never did.
Theodore inhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his expression impassive as he glanced toward you again.
You were laughing.
Not just a quiet chuckle, not the polite kind of laughter you gave when you were only half-paying attention. No, this was different. This was real. Genuine. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the edges, that made you drop your head slightly like you couldn’t quite contain it.
And Adrien—fucking Adrien Delacroix—was looking at you like you had given him the best gift in the world.
Theodore’s fingers curled around the edge of his desk, nails pressing into the wood.
The sound of Slughorn’s voice cut through the air, signalling the end of the lesson, but Theodore barely heard it.
He was still staring at you, at the way you gathered your things with an easy, unbothered grace, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.
He should say something.
Now.
This was his chance.
Before he could overthink it, before you could leave the room, before Adrien could whisk you away yet again.
But just as he stepped forward—
Adrien turned to you, saying something quietly, something just for you. Whatever it was, it made you smile, and then, just like that, you were walking toward the door with him, the two of you slipping effortlessly into the current of students flooding the corridor.
And Theodore—
Theodore was left standing there, fists clenched at his sides, frustration coiling tightly in his chest like a noose.
He couldn’t do this anymore.
This wasn’t just irritation. This wasn’t just some fleeting annoyance that he could brush off with a sharp exhale and a roll of his shoulders.
No—this was something else entirely.
Something heavier.
Something dangerously close to regret.
Theodore barely felt his feet against the stone floor as he stormed through the castle. His mind was racing, his pulse pounding, the frustration still simmering beneath his skin like an open wound.
He couldn’t shake the image of you and Adrien in Potions. The way the two of you worked so easily together, the way your elbows brushed when you leaned too close. The way he murmured something low, just for you, and the way your lips had twitched with amusement before you gave him that look. That soft, private look that Theodore hadn’t seen in weeks.
It was wrong. It should have been him sitting next to you, not Adrien. It should have been his shoulder brushing against yours. He should have been the one pulling your cauldron closer when you got distracted, the one smirking as you muttered something under your breath about how you hated Slughorn’s tedious assignments. He should have been the one you turned to with that easy familiarity, the kind that once belonged to him and only him.
But he wasn’t.
Because you had stopped turning to him at all.
And now? Now you had Adrien-fucking- Delacroix acting like he had any right to step into that space, like he had the right to replace Theodore without a second thought. Like you had simply let it happen.
His hands clenched at his sides.
He had to know. Had to understand why this was happening, why you had pulled away, why it felt like you had disappeared from his life without so much as a second glance. Because if he didn’t get answers soon, he felt like he might lose his goddamn mind.
He took the corner sharply, heading straight for Draco’s dorm.
Someone moved into his path.
“Theodore?”
It was the girl from before—the one who had approached him at breakfast, the one who had tried to invite him to the Valentine’s party some weeks back. The same girl who had looked at you with thinly veiled amusement, like you were some afterthought to her plans.
He didn’t care about her.
She stepped toward him with a bright, expectant smile. “I was wondering if—”
He walked right past her.
Didn’t slow down. Didn’t acknowledge her.
Didn’t even hear what she had been about to say.
Her voice faltered, her footsteps pausing behind him, but he didn’t bother looking back. He was already moving, already set on what he needed to do, already too far gone to stop now.
Draco was going to tell him what the hell was going on.
His patience had finally run out.
By the time he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate. He slammed his fist against it, hard enough that the hinges rattled.
“Malfoy,” he bit out, voice sharp, demanding. “Open the fucking door.”
Nothing.
His fingers curled into a fist again, his knuckles burning.
“If you don’t open it right now, I swear I’ll—”
The handle gave way easily beneath his grip. The door wasn’t locked.
He shoved it open, frustration spilling over—
And immediately regretted it.
Draco Malfoy was on his bed, half-naked.
Astoria Greengrass was also half-naked.
The sheets had barely been pulled over her, her blouse abandoned somewhere on the floor, her curls disheveled in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Draco was sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, his hair a mess, looking every bit like someone who had just been interrupted at the worst possible moment.
Theodore froze.
Astoria froze.
Draco blinked once, then exhaled like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.
For a full, excruciating moment, nobody moved.
Then Astoria let out a noise of sheer disbelief, scrambling for the sheets to cover herself. “Are you actually fucking serious, Nott?”
Theodore felt like he’d been dropped into hell.
His eyes snapped to the ceiling. “For fuck’s sake—” He turned sharply, facing the door, but didn’t leave. His fingers dug into his temples as he let out a slow, aggravated breath. “Why the fuck was your door unlocked?”
Draco just rolled his eyes, completely unbothered. “Didn’t think a lunatic was about to barge in.”
Astoria scoffed from where she stood by the wardrobe, still tying the belt of Draco’s robe around her waist. “Merlin, if I had a Galleon for every time a Slytherin boy had a meltdown in this room, I’d be rich.”
Theodore barely heard her. His patience snapped.
“What’s going on with her?”
Draco raised a brow. “Who?”
Theodore saw red.
Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Draco’s collar and yanked him forward, the frustration that had been simmering beneath his skin finally spilling over.
Draco barely reacted, unimpressed as ever, but before he could pry Theodore off—
Astoria grabbed Theodore’s collar.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, physically pulling Theodore back with both hands, forcing him to let go of Draco’s shirt. “If you’re about to start some macho territorial bullshit, at least have the decency to do it outside where I’m not half-naked.”
Theodore barely stumbled, but his glare snapped to her. “Stay out of this, Greengrass.”
Astoria barked out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She crossed her arms, gaze narrowing. “What the hell is your problem?”
“My problem,” Theodore hissed, shaking his head, “is that you two clearly know something and are dragging this out instead of telling me what the fuck is going on.”
Draco straightened his collar like nothing had happened, exhaling in exasperation. “I already told you—”
Astoria cut him off, rolling her eyes. “He’s too dense, Malfoy. Just tell him what your dear cousin is doing before he starts breaking furniture.”
Draco shot her an unimpressed look but obliged, sighing as he finally leaned back against the headboard.
“She’s seventeen, Theodore.”
Theodore clenched his jaw. “I know that.”
“Do you?” Astoria interjected, raising a brow. “Because you’re acting like it’s some great mystery why a girl like her is suddenly acting her age.”
Theodore snapped his head toward her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Astoria exchanged a slow glance with Draco, like they were having a silent conversation. Then she sighed dramatically, sitting on the edge of the bed and propping her chin on her palm.
“It means,” she said slowly, “that it’s embarrassing how blind you are.”
Theodore’s nails dug into his palms. “Watch it, Greengrass.”
“Or what?” she shot back, unimpressed. “You’ll shove me into a wall next? Gods, you are so obvious.”
Draco smirked. “She’s right, you know.”
“Of course I am,” Astoria said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Here’s the thing, Nott. If you wanted her to stay in your orbit, maybe you shouldn’t have acted like she was nothing more than some convenient little thing to have around.”
Theodore’s jaw ticked. “That’s not—”
“She’s moving on,” Draco interrupted, his voice eerily calm. “Because that’s what people do when they realise they’ve been wasting their time.”
The words landed like a slap.
Theodore swallowed, something bitter curling in his stomach.
Astoria hummed. “I mean, you didn’t actually think she’d wait around for you forever, did you?” She tilted her head, watching him. “Poor thing probably woke up one day and realised she was chasing after a ghost.”
Theodore’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not how it was.”
Draco gave him a flat look. “Wasn’t it?”
Theodore hated the way his stomach twisted.
“She’s not stupid, Nott,” Draco continued, voice cool. “And she’s not waiting anymore. She’s looking for something better.” He smirked, slow and sharp. “Someone better.”
Astoria whistled. “Brutal.”
Theodore exhaled harshly through his nose, shaking his head. “That’s not—” He stopped himself. His voice had wavered. Fuck.
Astoria’s expression shifted, like she had caught something in his face that he hadn’t meant to show. Then, to his absolute fury, she smiled.
“Oh, this is rich,” she mused, eyes flickering over him. “You actually thought she was always going to come back to you, didn’t you?”
Theodore froze.
Draco chuckled under his breath.
“She did, though, didn’t she?” Astoria continued, tapping a finger against her knee. “Every time you got too cold, every time you pulled away, every time you treated her like a second thought—she still came back. And now that she’s not?” Her lips curled, saccharine and cruel. “You don’t know what to do with yourself.”
The words dug in deep, cutting through skin and bone like a blade.
Draco sighed, stretching out his legs. “You’re pissed off because you thought you had all the time in the world.” He gave Theodore a lazy once-over. “But newsflash—you don’t.”
Astoria nodded in agreement. “Adrien Delacroix is looking like a much better option than a boy who can’t make up his fucking mind.”
Theodore’s breathing was sharp, unsteady. His mind raced, but his lips remained pressed in a tight, stubborn line. He refused to acknowledge the sickening feeling twisting inside him, the one whispering that Draco and Astoria were right.
They weren’t. They couldn’t be.
You weren’t moving on.
You weren’t choosing Adrien over him.
You couldn’t be.
“I never treated her like a second thought,” Theodore muttered, voice tight, controlled—barely masking the storm raging inside him.
Astoria let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, really?” Her arms crossed over her chest, her expression sharpening into something lethal. “Then what the hell do you call the past few months, Nott?”
Theodore’s jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to argue—
But Astoria gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest in mock horror.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did I say months? That was a huge mistake.” She took a step closer, her smirk turning cold.
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something vicious.
“Years.”
The words landed like a curse, slamming into Theodore’s chest, wrapping around his ribs like an iron vice.
His stomach dropped.
Astoria scoffed. “Yeah, years, Nott. Years of you keeping her close enough to touch but never letting her hold on. Years of her looking at you like you hung the fucking stars, waiting—praying—for you to see her the way she saw you.”
Theodore’s breath was coming in short, uneven pulls.
“But you didn’t, did you?” Astoria pressed, her voice razor-sharp. “Or maybe you did, and you liked knowing she’d never leave. That no matter how many times you ignored her, no matter how many times you pulled away, no matter how many times you made her feel like she was nothing—she’d still be there.”
Theodore’s stomach twisted violently.
Because she was right.
You had always been there.
And he had been stupid enough to take that for granted.
His throat felt tight. “That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what happened!” Astoria screamed, her voice cracking, raw with frustration. “She spent years orbiting around you like you were something fucking sacred. Like you were the fucking sun and she was just lucky to stand in your light.”
Theodore felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“But stars burn out, Nott,” Astoria spat, hands trembling at her sides. “And eventually, people stop waiting.”
His chest ached—something sharp, something unbearable, something he hadn’t even realized was there until this moment.
You had waited for him. For so long. And he—
He had wasted it.
Astoria wasn’t finished.
“And you know what the worst part is?” she demanded, stepping even closer, fury flashing in her eyes. “She never even wanted to say anything about it! She just took it.”
Theodore blinked. “What?”
Astoria let out a hollow laugh. “Oh yeah, she never complained. Never confronted you. Never demanded that you finally make up your fucking mind.” She sneered. “But Draco noticed, didn’t you?”
Draco exhaled through his nose, nodding, his expression unreadable.
“She never told me,” he admitted. “But I saw the red eyes. The tear-stained sleeves. The way she always looked away when she thought no one was watching.”
Theodore’s chest constricted, a sickening pressure building in his ribs.
No.
No, that wasn’t—
You had never—
Had you?
“She thought she was hiding it,” Astoria continued, voice filled with something dangerously close to disgust. “But I got her to talk. Eventually. And do you know what she said?”
Theodore couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“She said it didn’t matter.” Astoria’s voice softened for just a second, something bitter laced in her tone. “She said she was fine. That you weren’t doing anything wrong—that it was just how you were.” Her expression hardened again, her hands clenching into fists. “And do you know how fucking heartbreaking it is to watch someone shrink themselves into something manageable just so the person they love doesn’t feel guilty?”
Theodore’s hands were shaking.
“She acted like it was normal,” Astoria went on, her voice rising again. “Like it was fine that she spent years being treated like an afterthought—like she should just be grateful for the scraps of attention you gave her.”
Theodore felt like he was going to be sick.
She had hurt because of him.
She had cried because of him.
And he had never even noticed.
Astoria exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “And now you have the fucking audacity to stand here and act like she’s the one abandoning you?” Her voice broke, half a laugh, half something furious. “No, Theodore. You don’t get to do that. You let her go. And now she’s choosing to be happy.”
Theodore’s nails dug into his palms so hard he thought they might draw blood.
Because he saw it now.
Every moment he had let pass. Every glance you had given him that he had pretended not to notice. Every fucking time you had stood next to him, waiting for him to say something, to do something, and he had done nothing.
And now you weren’t waiting anymore.
His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “I care about her.”
Astoria’s laugh was vicious. “No, no, you fucking don’t.”
Theodore flinched.
Astoria stared at him for a long moment, her eyes still burning. Then, she exhaled and threw up her hands. “Oh, my god.”
Theodore swallowed hard.
Astoria turned to Draco. “Why are boys so fucking stupid?”
Draco sighed. “It’s genetic.”
Theodore’s control shattered. His pride was in ruins. He took a step forward, his voice breaking. “Please.”
Astoria blinked.
Draco raised a brow.
Theodore swallowed hard. His throat burned, his chest ached, but none of it mattered. Not compared to this.
“I can’t—I can’t lose her,” he said, voice shaking. “I can’t—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching as he forced himself to meet Astoria’s gaze. “Just tell me what the fuck to do.”
Astoria studied him.
Then she sighed, rubbing her temples. “God, you’re pathetic.”
Draco hummed. “Painful to watch, really.”
Astoria rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine.” She took a step forward, poking a sharp finger into Theodore’s chest. “You want to fix this?”
Theodore didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then stop thinking about it and do something, you absolute coward.”
Theodore exhaled shakily.
Astoria didn’t let up. “You don’t get to just show up and expect her to forgive you. You have to fight for her. You have to prove to her that you give a shit.”
Theodore swallowed hard.
Draco smirked. “Sounds like a grand gesture is in order.”
Astoria snorted. “Not even. Something consistent, Nott. Because trust me—Adrien is making it very, very easy for her to forget about you.”
Something flared hot in Theodore’s chest.
No.
You weren’t going to forget him.
He wasn’t going to let you.
And for the first time in his life—
He was going to fight for you.
Theodore woke with a start, the sharp knock at his door pulling him violently from the tangled haze of restless sleep. His head jerked up, and for a disoriented moment, the room swayed around him—stacks of parchment, ink-stained hands, the bitter taste of exhaustion thick on his tongue. His cheek had been pressed against his desk, the parchment beneath it crumpled, words smudged into an indecipherable mess. His body ached, stiff from the awkward position he’d fallen asleep in, and as he blinked blearily, the sight before him sank in with a slow, leaden weight.
His desk was an absolute disaster. Papers—so many of them—scattered across the wooden surface, some half-crumpled in frustration, others folded neatly, all of them failed attempts at something that should’ve been simple. Letters.
He had tried to write to you.
The realization clawed at him, dragging its nails down his ribs. The ink had bled through some pages, the sentences struck through with such force that they had torn, his frustration laid bare in every scratched-out word. Apologies he couldn’t get right. Apologies that, even now, felt meaningless. His own handwriting glared back at him in different variations of the same pitiful attempts:
I should’ve—
I never meant—
If you could just—
None of them were right. None of them would fix it.
A second knock echoed against the heavy door, firmer this time. He exhaled sharply, running a tired hand over his face before pushing himself up from the desk. The room felt suffocating, a mess of discarded pages, ink bottles knocked onto their sides, the air thick with the weight of too many unsaid things. He barely remembered falling asleep. He barely remembered anything past the spiral of last night—pacing the room, writing, tossing letter after letter into the pile, his mind a hurricane of words he could never bring himself to say aloud.
And now, someone was here.
Dragging himself toward the door, Theodore pulled it open without much thought. The sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.
Packages. Stacked haphazardly outside his room, almost comically abundant. A house-elf stood beside them, looking mildly unimpressed as he shuffled the last box into place.
“Delivery for Master Nott,” the elf announced, then, without another word, disappeared with a sharp crack, leaving Theodore standing there, staring at the pile of things he had—
Merlin.
His fingers twitched at his sides, a slow, creeping horror settling into his bones as he took in the sight properly. Wildflowers, their petals pristine and delicate, wrapped in deep green silk. A book—the one you had mentioned in passing months ago, the one you had run your fingers over in the shop window but never bought for yourself. You've probably found a way to read this already. Jewelry, carefully selected, gleaming in the light. And more—small things, tokens, pieces of something that, at the time, had seemed like they would mean something.
His gut twisted.
"Cazzo," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face, pressing his fingers hard against his closed eyes.
This—this was pathetic.
A short, breathless laugh left him, bitter and self-deprecating. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the strands as if it might ground him, as if it might undo whatever this was. What had he been thinking? That he could throw money at this, at you, and somehow that would fix it? That he could neatly wrap up his guilt in expensive gifts and you’d just—what? Forgive him? Pretend none of it happened?
Theodore swallowed hard, his gaze darkening as it lingered on the unopened packages. The weight of it all—the sleepless nights, the letters he could never finish, the sharp edges of regret cutting into him—it crashed down with a force that made his chest feel hollow.
Because he saw it now.
You wouldn’t take any of this. You would look at the flowers, the book, the jewelry, all of it—and you would see right through him. You would see the desperation, the guilt, the pathetic attempt to mend something that was already broken.
He saw you standing there, just beyond the mess, your figure sharp against the blur of his exhaustion. The tilt of your head, the steady weight of your gaze—it was you. It had to be. You were right there, arms crossed, expression unreadable, watching him in that way that always made his chest feel tight.
For a split second, relief surged through him, raw and unfiltered. You had come. You had seen the mess, the letters, the wildflowers, the pathetic attempt at fixing things, and you had come anyway.
But you weren’t saying anything. You were just standing there, your eyes scanning the disaster around him, and when they met his, they weren’t filled with anger. They were filled with something worse.
Disappointment.
His stomach twisted, his throat tightening painfully. He opened his mouth, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I know—" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I know it's not enough."
You didn’t move. Didn’t react. The silence pressed against him, heavier than anything he had ever felt.
He swallowed hard, shifting on his feet. "I just—" He let out a short, unsteady breath, raking a hand through his hair. "What the fuck was I thinking?"
Still, nothing. Your gaze didn’t waver, and that was what made it unbearable. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t cold. It was just… resigned.
"Cazzo," he muttered under his breath, dragging his hands down his face. "I should've—"
You can’t buy my forgiveness, Theodore.
The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they might as well have been a curse, sinking deep into his chest, curling around his ribs like something inescapable.
He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes, willing the vision to disappear.
But when he opened them again—you were gone.
He exhaled sharply through his nose as if that could push the thought away. As if he didn’t already know, deep down, that you had every right to say it.
Because this wasn’t about the gifts. It was about everything before them. The years of taking you for granted. The dismissals, the avoidance, the ways he had let you slip through his fingers like something he had assumed would always be there.
And now, when he was finally ready to reach for you—you weren’t waiting anymore.
The realization hit harder than he expected, slamming into him like a punch to the ribs. His throat tightened, and for a long, unbearable moment, all he could do was stand there, staring at the mess he had made.
Then, with a sharp inhale, he turned away. The packages remained where they were, untouched, as Theodore shut the door behind him, pressing his back against the wood.
He needed to do better.
But for the first time, he wasn’t sure if it would be enough.
How was he supposed to reach you now? How was he supposed to even begin to fix this? He couldn’t just show up—not after everything, not after the silence he had let stretch between you like an uncrossable chasm. And yet, the thought of doing nothing, of letting this fester, made his stomach churn violently.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. He had spent so long keeping you at a distance, and now that you were truly out of reach, all he wanted to do was find you.
But how?
Theodore wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there.
He had come out to the courtyard for a cigarette—just one, just long enough to clear his head. Long enough to pretend that he wasn’t unraveling from the inside out. But the hours had slipped by like water through his fingers, and now the sun was setting, casting the sky in deep purples and burnt oranges. His cigarette pack was almost empty. His fingers were stained with nicotine, raw from how many times he had burned each cigarette down to the filter.
The taste of smoke lingered thickly at the back of his throat, acrid and familiar, but it wasn’t doing anything to settle him. His nerves felt frayed, his thoughts tangled in a loop he couldn’t escape. The mess of the morning still clung to him—Astoria’s words, Draco’s sharp-edged amusement, the unbearable weight of knowing he had let you slip right through his fingers.
He didn’t want to talk to them again. Pushing harder would mean Astoria telling him to fuck off or worse—another lecture from her sharp tongue. And Draco? Draco was already entertained enough by this whole thing. No. If Theodore was going to understand what had changed, there was only one person who could give him that answer.
Adrien Delacroix.
The thought of Adrien gnawed at him. He’d noticed him the second he stepped into the courtyard, but Adrien had been here first. That should have meant something. Should’ve given him the right to ignore him, to pretend that he wasn’t watching from the corner of his eye as Adrien sat with his group of friends.
"C'est insensé," one of them muttered, shaking his head. "Tu as vu? Since—je ne sais pas, maybe une hour?"
Adrien exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Je sais."
The boy scoffed. "Mais pourquoi? What is his problem? He just—stares, like—like he wants to kill you."
Another boy chuckled, glancing over his shoulder. "You steal his girlfriend or something?" His accent thick but teasing. "He looks at you like... like you took something from him."
Adrien smirked, shaking his head. "Non. But maybe he thinks so."
Theodore’s chest tightened, his hands shaking, his cigarette burning down too quickly in his hand. He could feel the jealousy curling in his gut like a fist. The idea that Adrien could have anything to do with you—it shouldn’t matter. He knew it shouldn’t matter. But fuck, it did.
His teeth ground together, a bitter taste rising in his mouth. The laughter of Adrien’s friends, casual and light, sent a flare of irritation through him. He hated how Adrien made everything feel easy—like he was untouchable. It burned even worse when Theodore had to rely on him to understand what had changed.
And still—he couldn’t just let it go.
The thought of asking Adrien for help was almost unbearable. His pride bristled at the idea of begging, of needing someone like him for something. Adrien had a way of making everything feel like a game, like Theodore was just another piece on his chessboard.
But fuck, the thought of not asking him was worse. The knot in his chest tightened. If Adrien was the answer, then he’d have to go to him. And that was the last thing he wanted.
But what else was there? How else would he get to you?
Adrien laughed again. The sound caught him off guard—light, unbothered. It threaded through the crisp evening air like it belonged there. Theodore didn’t want to hear it. But somehow, it clung to him, stoking the fire in his chest.
"Merde," one of Adrien’s friends muttered, and Theodore’s stomach twisted. "Regarde encore— he’s still looking."
Adrien sighed, rubbing his temple. "Je sais."
Theodore’s shoulders tensed. The idea that Adrien could sense him watching—feel his gaze—made his blood boil. He dropped his gaze, flicking the last of the cigarette, trying to feign disinterest, but it was too late. The damage was done.
"Mais pourquoi?" the other boy scoffed, laughing in confusion. "What is his problem? Il te déteste ou quoi? He stares—like—comme un chien abandonné."
Theodore’s heart raced, the words biting deeper than they should’ve. He wasn’t staring—he wasn’t! Just watching. Just—he wasn’t sure what it was.
But Adrien—he huffed out a short, tired laugh, stretching his arms behind him. "Non. Mais—" He tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking, like he was weighing something. "Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants."
Another boy snorted. "C'est triste. Feels like he wants to fight you ou beg for something."
Laughter, casual, and it dug at Theodore, twisting inside him. He could almost hear the amusement in Adrien’s voice—like he knew exactly what he was doing to him. It was infuriating.
But worse, much worse, was the sinking feeling that had settled in his chest. Adrien was playing some game—he always did—but now, it felt different. Every second he spent here, just watching, was another second he was losing control. Losing ground.
Theodore ground his teeth together, the ember of his cigarette flaring briefly with the tightness in his grip. He wasn’t even sure why he was still here—still stuck in this courtyard, pretending he didn’t care. He didn’t need to care.
But you do, a voice in his head whispered, and Theodore slammed it down immediately. No. He didn’t need to do this. He didn’t need Adrien. Didn’t need anything from him. The thought was a bitter taste at the back of his throat.
His gaze had drifted again. Adrien was still there, still with his friends, still being him, laughing, existing like the world had nothing on him. Theodore’s eyes narrowed, but his thoughts felt like they were slipping away, growing foggy, distant. It wasn’t that he wanted to look—he didn’t, not anymore—but his mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything. Every word, every laugh, every glance.
Before he knew it, he was no longer paying attention to anything around him—just lost in the buzz of his own thoughts. Adrien’s presence was like a shadow he couldn’t shake, hovering at the edge of his mind, no matter how much he wanted to push it away.
That was when he felt it.
A shift in the air. A pressure building. Like the ground was vibrating, or the space around him had suddenly grown too small.
Theodore’s heart skipped a beat, a flutter of panic rising in his chest. He hadn’t heard any footsteps—hadn’t seen Adrien moving, hadn’t noticed him leave his friends.
But then—
Adrien’s figure appeared in his peripheral vision, and Theodore’s breath caught in his throat.
He didn’t know how to process it, how to even think about it. Adrien was walking straight toward him, cutting through the space between them like he had every right to.
What the fuck is he doing?
Theodore’s mind raced, panic flooding through him in an instant. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t prepared for this. His fingers tightened around the cigarette, and his pulse quickened as he tried to steady his breath. His thoughts crashed against each other, the sharp throb of confusion making him dizzy.
He didn’t know why it hit him like this. Adrien never approached him like this—never. Not without purpose. Not without making some fucking joke or saying something sarcastic. And now—
Is he coming to confront me? To mock me?
Theodore’s chest tightened at the thought. No. No, that can’t be it. He wouldn’t... would he?
His heart pounded in his ears as he fought the urge to stand up, to run, to hide, to do anything but stay frozen in place. Adrien was still coming closer. Still making his way to him with that effortless stride, like he had all the time in the world.
What the hell does he want?
Theodore’s mind screamed at him to stay calm, but the tension in his body was unbearable. He wasn’t hidden anymore. He couldn’t hide anymore.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t ready for any of it. Not for this moment. Not for whatever Adrien was going to throw at him next. The weight of everything he had been avoiding crashed down on him, and in that moment, all he could think was one thing: I’m not ready.
The frenchman stopped just short of Theodore, standing for a moment as if assessing the space between them. Theodore’s stomach twisted, every instinct telling him to look away, to say something, to do anything but sit there in silence.
Adrien didn’t seem to mind the quiet. With a casual flick of his wrist, he pulled a fresh pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and glanced at Theodore. “You got a light?”
Theodore hesitated, fingers hovering over his own lighter in his pocket - scratching at the engraving. The boy was giving him the most horrid once over - as if judging the sham-confidence that he was trying so hard to convince himself was real. He considered not handing over the lighter—to not say anything at all. But Adrien wasn’t waiting for permission, just standing there, waiting for Theodore to respond.
Finally, Theodore pulled the lighter from his pocket and handed it over. Adrien took it without a word, lighting the cigarette he was balancing between his teeth. As the flame flickered out, he sank down on the bench next to him, taking a deep inhale of the cigarette. He glanced down at the lighter and raised an eyebrow.
“Teo?” Adrien said, his tone teasing, yet genuinely curious. He turned it over in his fingers, inspecting the engraving. “Someone special gave this to you?”
Theodore’s chest tightened. He didn’t answer, couldn’t. The air felt thick, heavy, with Adrien just sitting there— just a a meter away, eyes flicking between him and the lighter, like he knew exactly how to get under Theodore’s skin. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly.
“So,” Adrien said after a moment, the word hanging between them like a challenge. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”
Theodore’s heart skipped a beat. His instincts screamed at him to push back, to protect whatever was left of his pride, but he stayed silent. Adrien’s eyes never left him, his smirk widening.
“You’ve been staring at me like you’re planning my funeral. Is it that bad?” Adrien said casually, taking another drag from his cigarette.
Theodore’s grip tightened around his near-dead cigarette, the ember flaring with his barely restrained irritation. He should say something, anything, but the words were caught in his throat.
Adrien, sensing the tension, continued to poke at him. “Well whatever, it is, it must be bad enough that you've spent the last 3 heures burning holes into my head.”
Theodore’s jaw clenched. He wanted to fight back, to get under Adrien’s skin the way he was doing to him, but the silence between them felt like a trap. Adrien was waiting for something. A reaction. A slip-up. He was playing this game, and Theodore was losing.
The weight of it pressed against his ribs, coiling tight around his lungs, making every breath feel too shallow. The courtyard stretched vast and open around them, but the air between them was thick—choking, stagnant. Something waiting to snap.
A shift of movement. The subtle inhale of someone who had already made up their mind.
Adrien exhaled first. A slow breath through his nose, smoke curling from his lips before he flicked what remained of his cigarette to the ground. The ember sizzled faintly against damp stone, dimming instantly, disappearing.
He didn’t leave.
Instead, he lingered, rolling his shoulders back before tilting his head just slightly—casual, practiced ease masking something sharper beneath the surface.
"So." His voice was light, too light. A forced contrast against the weight pressing down on them. "What’s with the lurking?"
The silence that followed dragged.
It should have been broken by something natural—a scoff, a sigh, any acknowledgment that the words had even been spoken. But nothing came.
No response. No movement.
Just tension, settling deeper, embedding itself into every unspoken second.
Adrien’s fingers twitched. "You know," he continued, tone shifting toward something drier, "if you’re going to stand there and stare at me all night, you could at least pretend to have a reason."
Still, nothing.
Not a single flicker of acknowledgment, save for the way Theodore’s fingers tightened—so slightly it would have been easy to miss—at his sides.
The tell was small. But it was there.
Adrien hummed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Long day?"
A pause.
Theodore’s jaw clenched, a flicker of tension in his shoulders so brief it could have been imagined.
Not an answer. But not nothing, either.
The corner of Adrien’s mouth curled—not in amusement, not really. It was too exasperated for that, too dry. "Or are you just like this now?"
That got a reaction. A sharp inhale, controlled but still noticeable.
Like the comment had landed.
Like it had hit somewhere.
The silence that followed was different. Sharper.
Adrien exhaled, running a slow hand through his hair, the weight of his own patience wearing thin. "Right." He nodded to himself, voice dipping into something lower, something edged with something just slightly irritated. "You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?"
Another pause. Another beat of nothingness stretching too long, stretching so far it started to feel personal.
Adrien didn’t miss the way Theodore’s gaze flickered—not toward him, never toward him—but past him, around him, away from him.
Avoiding.
Not engaging.
Something about that settled wrong in Adrien’s chest.
Because why was this his problem?
Why was he standing here, trying, when the weight of what had gone wrong between Theodore and her had nothing to do with him?
He hadn’t been the one to pull away. He hadn’t been the one to let her think, even for a second, that she wasn’t important enough to fight for.
And yet, somehow, he was the one standing in the cold, dragging words out of someone who clearly had no intention of speaking first.
His fingers twitched at his sides before curling into fists.
Yeah. No.
"Right. You know what?" A step back. A shake of the head. "I’m not doing this."
He turned, already done, already moving.
Then—
"Wait!"
The word came rough. Unsteady.
Like something had slipped before it could be swallowed down.
Adrien stopped.
For a moment, he didn’t turn back.
Didn’t move.
Just let the silence stretch impossibly thin, let the weight of the word sit between them, heavy and unmistakable.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned.
The silence stretched between them, thick with something neither of them wanted to name. Theodore shifted, his jaw clenching as he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to meet Adrien’s gaze. The Frenchman, still standing with his weight lazily shifted to one side, raised a brow, unimpressed.
Adrien let out a breath of laughter, though there was no real humor in it. "What? You gonna keep staring at me like I stole your inheritance, or do you actually have something to say?"
Theodore's fingers twitched at his sides. He wasn’t in the mood for games, but he couldn’t blame Adrien for being like this. Not really. He had spent weeks resenting him, watching him from afar, convincing himself that Adrien was the reason everything had changed. But now, standing here, with no one else to turn to, he found himself swallowing the words that burned in his throat before finally forcing them out.
"I want her to know that I've made the effort—that I've changed. But how do I make her see that?"
Adrien blinked. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then, a slow, exaggerated sigh left his lips, and he ran a hand down his face. "Oh, mon dieu," he muttered, shaking his head. "You cannot be serious. Is this really happening?"
Theodore’s hands clenched into fists. "Just answer the question."
Adrien gave him a long look, and for a second, Theodore thought he was going to walk away. But then, the amusement in Adrien’s eyes dimmed, something steadier settling in its place. He tilted his head slightly, assessing him.
"Why are you asking me?" Adrien asked, his voice quieter now, less sharp. "You must have learnt something in the how many years she's been pining after you."
Theodore swallowed hard. "I—"
Adrien cut in. "You’re just hoping I’ll say something that makes it easier for you, aren't you?"
"And what, let me guess," Adrien exhaled, crossing his arms. "You’ve finally realized you’ve been acting like a complete idiot, and now you’re desperate to fix things. But you don’t know how, and instead of figuring it out yourself, you’re here, asking me for some magic solution to make it all better." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Incroyable."
Theodore stiffened. He deserved that. He knew he did. But the weight in his chest didn’t ease.
Adrien watched him for another long moment, then sighed, his frustration fading just slightly. "You want an answer? Fine. Here’s the truth. You don’t just tell someone you care; you show them. It’s not about words— it’s not about grand apologies or empty promises. It’s about actions."
Theodore stayed silent, absorbing his words.
Adrien’s gaze sharpened. "And you’re not just competing with me. You’re competing with yourself. The version of you she remembers - apparantly the only one she knows. The version of you that made her feel like she wasn’t enough. She needs to see that you’ve changed, not because you’re scared of losing her, but because you want to be better—for her, yes, but also for yourself."
Theodore’s throat felt tight. He had spent so long convincing himself that the problem was Adrien, that it was about who she was spending time with now, that he had ignored the real issue: himself.
Adrien sighed, rolling his shoulders back. "Look, I don’t like you," he said bluntly. "Not after what you put her through. And honestly? I wasn’t sure what kind of person you were. I’ve heard things—seen the way you act. I figured you were just another pureblood Slytherin with nothing real to say. But…" He hesitated, then gave a small shrug. ""She cares about you. For some stupid reason, she does. And because of that, I have to at least try to believe you can be better. But if you don’t—if you mess this up again—I’ll make sure there’s no coming back from it. She means a lot to me, Nott. She’s important. And if you sorting your shit out means she’ll be happy, then fine, I’ll entertain this. But if you hurt her again? I’ll personally make sure you never get the chance to fix it.""
Theodore exhaled, the weight of it settling deep in his chest. "And how do I do that?"
Adrien smirked, though there was a sharp edge to it. "Alright, Nott, let’s break this down. What exactly have you done so far to show her you’ve changed?" He leaned his head back over the bench, waiting. "Go on. Impress me."
Theodore hesitated. "I… talked to Astoria. And Draco. And I—" He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I bought her stuff— apology stuff to show her I thought of her too..."
Adrien let out a slow, dry laugh. "Oh, merveilleux. Let me guess—flowers? Jewelry? Maybe a book she already read three times over?" He clutched his chest dramatically. "Mon dieu, Nott, how could she possibly resist such a display of heartfelt remorse?"
Theodore sat there in silence.
He scoffed, shaking his head. "And you—really—thought that would fix everything? Just throw a bunch of gifts at her and hope she magically forgets how much you hurt her?" He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Brilliant plan, Nott. Truly inspired. Nothing says 'I understand my mistakes' quite like expensive shit."
Adrien exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Tell me, did you even put any thought into it? Or did you just grab whatever looked fancy and hope it would do the talking for you? Because if you think that stacking a pile of presents in front of her like some pathetic shrine to your guilt is going to fix anything—mon dieu, you’re even more clueless than I thought."
Theodore clenched his jaw. "That’s not—"
Theodore looked away, his grip tightening at his sides. The worst part was that Adrien wasn’t wrong.
Adrien sighed, rubbing his temple. "You don’t buy forgiveness, Theodore. You don’t hand her a pile of gifts and expect her to believe you suddenly care. If anything, that just proves you don’t get it. If you want her to see you’ve changed, then you actually have to change." Not just panic and start running to everyone around her hoping they’ll do the work for you. You need to show her—through your actions, not just whatever self-pitying monologue you’ve got running in your head."
Theodore swallowed hard. "And how do I do that?"
Adrien’s smirk returned, but this time, it was less mocking. "Now that, mon ami, is the real question."
The sheets were too warm. Or maybe not warm enough. Every time you tried to settle, your thoughts seemed to slip between the covers with you, circling your mind like an endless, insomniac spiral. It had been like this for days. You rolled over for the fifth time, trying to bury your head in your pillow and ignore the feeling clawing at your chest—frustration, loneliness, the unrelenting ache of missing something you weren’t sure you could have anymore.
You turned again, staring at the shadows that crept along the stone walls of the dormitory, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Sleep wasn’t coming. It hadn’t come in a while.
Your fingers, cold despite the warmth of your blankets, brushed over the edge of your nightgown. Barefoot, you swung your legs off the side of the bed, toes brushing the cool stone floor. The chill hit you like a breath of wind. You stood, the muscles in your legs stiff from lying still for too long, and tugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders.
A quick glance around the room showed no one else awake. Of course, no one else would be—most of the Gryffindors could sleep through anything. But you weren’t like them. Not tonight.
You moved as quietly as possible, pulling your cardigan tighter, but your bare feet met the cold floor with every step, making you wince. You could feel the stone floor beneath your feet, rough and unforgiving, as if each step was a reminder of how disconnected you felt, how off-balance everything seemed lately. The distance between you and the others felt wider with each step you took. Even the castle seemed cold and distant.
Your thoughts circled back to him—Theodore. Even now, after all that had happened, he was still a presence in the back of your mind, unwanted and persistent, like the cold drafts you could never seem to escape. You weren’t ready for anything between you two, not yet, not with all the unsaid things and the space that had grown between you.
Your footsteps echoed softly through the empty halls as you navigated the winding corridors of the castle, your breath a faint mist in the cold air. The walk, though short, seemed to take forever. You had been making this journey for days now, finding solace in the familiar warmth of the kitchens, a place where time seemed to slow down and the usual chaos of Hogwarts didn’t quite reach you. It was just you, and the promise of something warm—something comforting that didn’t require explanation.
The flickering torchlight on the walls illuminated your path, but the shadows of the corridors seemed to stretch endlessly in front of you, like the miles of unspoken words and unfinished conversations between you and Theodore. The thought of him made your stomach churn in the quiet stillness of the castle, but still, you walked. You had to.
When you reached the kitchens, the door creaked as you nudged it open, the sound sharper in the silence of the night. The faint smell of baked goods lingered in the air, mixed with the faint scent of warm milk, a comfort that almost made you forget why you’d come. You stepped in, the door falling gently closed behind you, and your eyes immediately sought the familiar space—the cupboards lined with ingredients, the shelves stacked with cookbooks, the little stove in the corner that you’d grown to love over the years.
Then you froze.
There, standing over the counter, was Theodore.
At first, you thought you’d imagined him, the shadows playing tricks on your eyes, but no, there he was. Theodore, his hair slightly messy from sleep, his eyes bloodshot, and an array of failed attempts strewn across the counter in front of him. Empty mugs sat in a sad pile, some clearly broken, others just abandoned, alongside half-opened packets of hot chocolate powder and bits of chocolate bars that had already started to melt.
Your heart skipped a beat, a strange, sudden mixture of anger and confusion tightening in your chest. Of all places, here. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run or stay. Maybe both. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, cold stone against bare skin, the weight of the situation too much to bear.
You blinked, suddenly self-conscious of your bare feet, the cold air seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your mind was racing—what was he doing here? Why tonight, of all nights? And why this?
Theodore froze at the sound of your steps, his hands hovering over the mess. He stepped back, raising his hands in a motion you knew all too well. “I—I wasn’t trying to invade your personal space or anything,” he muttered quickly, glancing over at you with wide eyes. “I just... well, I know how much you like hot chocolate, and I thought I could... I mean, if you want, I can leave, but I wasn’t trying to—” He trailed off, looking flustered.
The words hit you like a cold wave, leaving a strange, hollow ache in their wake. His presence here, in this moment, felt like an intrusion. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t asked for him to come and try to fix things when there were still so many pieces of the puzzle missing, so many things left unsaid.
Your heart thudded in your chest, your wariness a familiar weight in your stomach. You didn’t respond immediately, unsure how to handle his sudden presence—especially given the quiet, unresolved tension between you. You didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not here. You weren’t sure if you were ready for any of it.
Theodore took another step back, as if to give you space, but his eyes flickered to the counter. “I—I didn’t mean to make a mess. It’s just, well... I’ve never made hot chocolate quite like this before, apparently.” His voice was almost sheepish, as if embarrassed by the sight of all the failed attempts. The mess on the counter felt like a metaphor for everything that had happened between you two—disastrous, messy, and something neither of you knew how to fix.
Your eyes fell on the spilled milk, the chocolate that was now a mess on the counter, the empty mugs—each a reminder of how much he was trying. For a moment, you were torn between the nagging frustration that you still felt for him and the sudden realization that this, this, was a side of him you hadn’t expected to see. And despite yourself, you felt a small crack in the wall you’d built around yourself.
Theodore sighed, rubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not trying to make things weird. Really. I just... I wanted to make it right.” He glanced at you again, his voice softer now. “You’ve been having a lot of... sleepless nights, haven’t you? I thought you might like this.”
For a second, there was a pause. The words hung between you like a fragile thread, neither of you willing to break the silence. The warmth in his voice didn’t match the cold in your chest, but it did something to you—softened the edges just enough for you to acknowledge how much you missed this. Missed him. But you couldn’t let that show. Not yet.
And in that silence, it almost felt like you were both standing in a space that didn’t quite belong to either of you, a place full of warmth, but also memories that were still too fresh.
You stared at Theodore, uncertainty gnawing at you. The kitchen was quiet again, save for the small sounds of his failed attempts, the clink of mugs and the soft, almost imperceptible hiss of milk being heated for another round. The awkwardness of the moment threatened to swallow you, and yet, there was something in his eyes—something familiar—that made you hesitate before retreating.
Finally, you asked, your voice low but sharp. "What are you doing here?"
Theodore blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He looked up, almost embarrassed, and fumbled with the mess on the counter. "Making hot chocolate," he said with a little shrug, like the answer should be obvious.
You shook your head, stepping closer, arms crossed over your chest. You weren’t going to let this go. "Theodore, why are you here?"
For a moment, Theodore just stood there, staring at the ingredients strewn across the counter. He seemed to lose himself in the mess, eyes flicking to the various packets of powder, the chocolate bars, the spilled milk. And then, as though pulled from some deep place within him, his voice was quieter when he spoke again, but no less meaningful. "You used to call me Teo," he said, almost to himself, as if the words were a soft confession.
You felt your chest tighten at the sound of the nickname, the one that had always seemed to carry weight with it. Teo. It was the name you’d whispered to him in a thousand different contexts: while studying, while making coffee, while talking about anything and everything. It had always been a small, simple thing, but hearing it now, in the thick of all this silence, made your heart feel heavy.
"Used to," you said quietly, your voice betraying the fragility you were trying to hide. "But that was a long time ago. It doesn’t—" You stopped yourself, unsure of what you wanted to say. It didn’t matter, but it did. You didn’t know how to untangle your feelings.
Theodore was standing still now, and his gaze was steady, meeting yours. The apology hadn’t come yet, but the way he looked at you made it clear he knew he owed one.
“I thought... I thought I could fix it,” he continued, the words spilling out now like he couldn’t hold them in any longer. "You remember fifth year? When you’d make me hot chocolate while we were studying for hours? You always insisted on putting all that extra sugar in it—whipped cream, marshmallows, the whole thing. I hated how sweet it was, but it was just... the way you made it, you know?" He chuckled softly, but the sound was laced with a touch of bitterness. "And I never had the heart to tell you. I just—well, I’d drink it anyway because you were the one making it. It just... felt like something we did together. Even if it was stupid and small, it was... something."
His voice faltered for a moment, and you could see him struggling to collect his thoughts, the words piling up in his mind. He shook his head as if trying to make sense of the mess, but nothing came out right.
"I guess," he continued, his tone quieter now, more serious, "I thought if I could do something like that again—if I could make you hot chocolate—maybe it would mean something. Maybe it would be enough for you to understand that I... I didn’t mean to mess things up. I know I did. I know I did. But I thought, at least... this... this would be a way to show you that I’m sorry. I don’t know. I just... I couldn’t think of anything else."
The words hung in the air, thick with all the things he hadn’t said, all the things you both had buried under silence and time. His hands hovered over the spilled milk, and for a moment, he seemed lost, his expression tense. You could tell he was trying, but there was no easy way out of this. No easy apology.
“I never thought I’d end up like this,” he continued, his voice thickening. "I know this doesn’t make up for what happened. It doesn’t fix anything. But... I thought, if I could at least do this—if I could make the hot chocolate you always made for me—that maybe it would be enough. At least... at least it would show you that I care."
There was so much emotion in his words—so much regret, so much rawness—that it made you want to look away, but you couldn’t. Your chest tightened, and the lump in your throat grew, because you didn’t know what to feel anymore. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t enough. That it couldn’t be fixed with something so small. But you were frozen, unsure of how to say it without everything else falling apart.
Finally, you spoke, your voice shaky, betraying the turmoil inside. "It’s not enough," you whispered. "Hot chocolate... doesn’t fix everything, Theodore."
He nodded, his eyes flicking down to the counter, avoiding your gaze. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. I just... I wanted to try."
The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy, but not entirely unpleasant. The words weren’t enough, not yet, but maybe there was a chance now. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something different.
The silence between you both felt different now. It wasn’t the oppressive silence of anger, but something quieter, more fragile. The air between you was thick, as though you could almost reach out and touch the distance that had always been there, but never this much. You could hear the soft hiss of milk heating on the stove, the clink of Theodore’s spoon stirring his latest attempt at hot chocolate—sounds that should have felt comforting, familiar, but instead, they only made the room feel colder.
You wanted to break the silence. You needed to. But the words felt stuck somewhere deep inside you, tangled in all the hurt and frustration you’d been carrying for so long. You had no idea how to untangle it all. It was easier to stay silent. Easier to keep your distance.
Your eyes stayed focused on the floor, avoiding his. Because if you looked at him, even for a second, you weren’t sure what you’d do. You could feel the anger still simmering beneath your skin, but there was something else, too. Something you couldn’t name. The ache in your chest grew heavier, but you couldn’t let yourself give in. Not yet.
For a moment, you just stood there, your arms still crossed, trying to gather the strength to speak. Finally, you let out a shaky breath. "I’m not saying it’s fine. It’s... it’s not. What you did... it really hurt, Theodore." The words felt like they came from someone else, but you knew they needed to be said. "I don’t forget things like that. It still hurts."
You could hear Theodore’s breath hitch in the quiet, and you knew he could feel every word in the depths of his gut. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was, you were still hurting, too.
He stayed still, his eyes fixed on you, like he was afraid that if he moved or spoke, he’d make things worse. His mouth opened, then closed, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to say next. You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You couldn’t bear to hear another apology that felt empty.
You didn’t want to admit it, but the weight of everything you'd been holding back felt too much to ignore anymore. “I don’t forget things like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but heavy with the truth of it. “I don’t forget how easily you pulled away, how much it hurt when you didn’t seem to care about me at all. I didn’t expect it to be so easy for you to just move on.” Your throat tightened with the bitterness you couldn’t quite swallow, and you hated how raw you sounded, but it was too late to take it back. “I didn’t think you would just... leave me like that."
"But, Theodore..."
The moment hung there, suspended in time, and you felt the rawness of everything you’d been holding inside finally bubble to the surface. You didn’t know if you could fully forgive him yet, but you weren’t sure you wanted to close the door on this... whatever it was.
You exhaled slowly, as if each breath took a little more of your resolve with it. "I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you murmured, your voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of everything you couldn’t say before. “It’s not just about the words you’ve said or the things you’ve done... it’s more than that. You can’t just make a grand gesture and think it’ll fix everything." You shifted your weight, suddenly unsure of how to make the rest of it come out right. "I... I need to see that this is something you actually care about. Not just in one moment, but over time. You’ve got to show me you can do more than apologize."
Your throat tightened as you struggled to keep yourself steady. "I don’t know if I’m ready to just... forget everything. Maybe I’ll get there, but not right now. I need to see if you really mean it... and I need more than just words."
You closed your eyes for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, the silence wrapping around you like a second skin. It was terrifying. Letting yourself feel all this again. Letting him see the parts of you that you’d buried for so long. But you could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t just apologizing to make it easier. He was really trying.
"I’m willing to let you try," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "But if you leave me down again..."
Theodore was still. His entire body was taut, like he was waiting for something—your rejection, maybe. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, even if his words were tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "I won’t," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "I won’t let you down again. I promise. I... I’ll show you, every day—I’m serious about this."
Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t enough yet. But there was something real in the way he spoke, a sincerity you hadn’t seen in him for so long. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him, even just a little.
Theodore took a step toward you, but he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to move closer. He opened his mouth to speak again, his voice low. "I’m guessing... you’re still not going to tell me how to make the hot chocolate, are you?"
It was the first time in hours that you let a smile slip through. It was small, but it was real—an actual smile, not one you’d forced. "You’ve got to figure that part out on your own, Teo."
He laughed softly, the sound filled with relief and something lighter than the tension that had been hanging between you both. And in that laugh, you could hear the promise. Not that everything would go back to the way it was, but that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something different.
You didn’t have all the answers, and neither did he. But for the first time in a long while, you felt like you didn’t have to do this alone. And that was enough to let you take the first step, even if you weren’t sure what would come next.
Content Warning - Alot of aruging (I was in an angsty argumentative mood so I may have gotten carried away), I feel like this is more of a filler to what I have planned. Also this definitely will be more than 4 chapters. I love putting my reader in pain? Sorry guys
A.N. Not really happy with this to be honest, but it is what it is. If it disappears I probably decided to rework it. I actually did a bit of my thesis this time so its like a reward. Please praise me i know this isn't the best, but my English clocks out when I'm at home and I did my thesis so like.
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The Scriptorium breathed. It inhaled with the shifting of shadows and exhaled with the distant creak of bookshelves, the air thick and damp with age. The stone walls were slick in places, the scent of mildew threading through the heavy perfume of melted wax and rotting parchment. The green candlelight barely held back the dark, casting a sickly glow that did little to warm the space. It wasn’t just dim—it was oppressive, the kind of darkness that pressed against the skin, slithered into the lungs, and settled like a weight in the bones.
Sebastian moved through it, restless, pacing, fingers ghosting over cracked book spines. The bookshelves loomed over him, towering far past where the candlelight could reach, their contents shrouded in shadows so deep they almost felt alive. The books themselves were ancient, their bindings peeling, their pages brittle with time. Many bore no titles, just faded etchings or deep gouges like someone had tried to erase them from existence. He pulled them down one by one, flipping feverishly through their pages, his breathing shallow.
Not enough. Not enough.
The words on the parchment blurred as he skimmed them—descriptions of dark spells, forbidden potions, rituals that required things he refused to consider. The magic here was cruel, twisting the body and mind, but none of it was what he needed. None of it was the answer.
You are close.
A voice slithered through the silence, curling around his thoughts like smoke.
Sebastian flinched, his grip tightening on the book in his hands. The voice curled around him like smoke, whispering from the edges of the room, seeping into the space behind his ribs.
Keep looking.
There is more. You know there is more. You just must keep looking.
He stiffened, fingers tightening around the brittle pages of an unnamed tome. The whisper had no clear source, no direction—it simply was, sinking into his mind like spilled ink into water.
He exhaled through his nose, grounding himself. He was imagining things. It was the Scriptorium playing tricks, feeding on the exhaustion that gnawed at him. That was all.
You are close. But you need more.
His hands moved faster now, turning pages in a frenzy, scanning for something—anything— that could help Anne. The flickering light stretched his shadow across the stone floor, distorting its shape, making it seem as if something else lurked just behind him, just out of sight. The sensation crawled up his spine, bhut he ignored it. His heart pounded against his ribs. He knew it wasn’t real. He knew the Scriptorium was a place steeped in dark magic, a place designed to worm into the mind, to tempt, to lure. But knowing did not make it any easier to ignore.
You have no time for doubt, the voice urged, a slow, insidious thing. You have seen what curse magic can do. What if the answer is not in undoing it, but in understanding it?
“I just need to find the right spell,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to focus, to ignore the way the air felt thick with something unseen. “Something that can help Anne.”
Sebastian’s fingers hesitated on a page lined with jagged runes, their meaning just out of reach.
Yes, the voice cooed. For Anne. But you know, don’t you? The magic in these pages is not enough. It never is. You must go deeper.
You could wield it. Bend it to your will. Make them pay.
He shut the book with a snap, breath coming quicker now. His hands shook as he grabbed another, flipping through pages lined with cramped, spidery text. More pain curses, rituals demanding blood and bone. Not enough. Not what he needed.
He shook his head. “No. I just—I just need a way to fix her.”
The voice hummed in amusement. You hesitate. Why? If you had the power, you could have saved your already.
And what happens when you cannot? The whisper curled at the edges of his mind, sinking deeper. When the damage is permanent? When there is no cure?
His throat tightened. “This is for Anne,” he said, harsher this time. “I don’t care about anything else.”
Sebastian’s throat tightened. No. There had to be something. He refused to accept anything less.
A pause. Then—No? What about the ones who hurt her? The ones who left her like this?
She deserves justice, Sebastian. You know that. They hurt ger. And they will do it again, and again, and again. They will hurt others. But you can stop them. You can make sure no one else suffers like she did.
Sebastian went still.
If you will not do it, then who will? Solomon? He could not even make it as an accomplished auror. Do you really want to leave your sister’s life in his hands?
“I’m doing something.” He snapped, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
They did this to her. They deserve to suffer for it.
You need more.
A sharp exhale left his lips. His pulse roared in his ears, in time with the flickering candlelight. He had thought it before—they had done this. Anne had been cursed, her life stolen piece by piece, and no one had paid the price for it.
Sebastian’s breath came faster now, his grip white-knuckled on the brittle parchment.
The voice curled around the thought like a serpent tightening its coils. Make them pay. You have the power—you just need more.
And you know where to find it.
His fingers dug into the cover of the book. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “I just need to find the cure,” he whispered, but it didn’t sound as certain as before.
Then—
The Scriptorium breathed. The shadows stretched longer, the darkness thickening. The voice was closer now, just behind his ear.
And if the cure is vengeance? Wouldn’t that be justice? Wouldn’t Anne be safer? It exhaled, a near-tangible warmth against his neck. Wouldn’t you feel better?
A metallic crash shattered the air.
The sound shattered through the thick silence, sharp and jarring. A bronze oil lamp hit the stone floor, rolling on its side before settling. The flame sputtered, flickering wildly, casting frantic shadows against the walls.
Sebastian whirled around, his heart slamming into his ribs. His wand was already in his hand before he realized what had happened.
====================================
You were there, a bronze oil lamp split by your feet, rocking slightly where it had fallen. Just beyond it, you stood frozen, your fingers still half-outstretched like you had tried—and failed—to stop it from toppling over. Ominis was beside you, hovering at your shoulder, his posture stiff with tension.
Slumped slightly against the pulpit, your breath uneven, your hand clutching your shoulder as if to contain something unseen. Ominis hovered at your side, his face pale and drawn, one hand outstretched as if prepared to catch you should you fall. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first. Your gaze flickered to Sebastian, taking him in—his heaving chest, his pale face, the wild look in his eyes.
Sebastian’s pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the remnants of the voice, silencing its whispers in an instant.
“What… what are you doing?”
“What happened?” His voice sounded foreign, hoarse, as if he had forgotten how to use it.
Ominis snaped his head towards him, the movement sharp filled with unrestrained fury tightening his features.
“What do you think happened?”
Sebastian’s mouth opened, but no words came. His gaze flickered back to you, taking in the way you trembled despite your insistence that you were fine, the way you held yourself stiffly, pain leaking through cracks in your façade.
Your voice was quiet, uncertain. "Sebastian? What are you doing?"
The world around you was slow. Too slow. As if time had stretched thin, the air thickened into something treacherous, and every breath lodged itself in your chest before you could fully take it in. The Scriptorium loomed, the weight of its darkness pressing against your skin, the shadows dense and unmoving. The oil lamp rocked where it had fallen, the dying flame sputtering, reflecting weakly in the damp sheen of the stone floor.
You forced yourself to look past it, to take in the bookshelves lining the walls—towering, gnarled things that seemed to shift in the periphery of your vision. The scent of old parchment and melted wax hung heavy, cloying in your throat. Somewhere, the low creak of wood settled into silence, as if even the Scriptorium itself had gone still in anticipation.
Your body ached. It was not the sharp, bright kind of pain that demanded immediate attention, but something insidious—an ache that had settled deep beneath your skin, creeping through your veins like slow-moving poison. Your muscles trembled as you tried to shift your weight, the ghost of the curse still lingering, burrowing into your bones. Every inhale sent dull, throbbing waves through your ribs, your back, your limbs. You clenched your jaw.
Not now. Not in front of them.
You exhaled through your nose, careful, controlled, and lifted your gaze to Sebastian.
He was standing stiffly, his wand still gripped in one hand, knuckles bloodless where his fingers dug into it. His chest rose and fell too fast, his dark eyes blown wide, darting over your like he was searching for something—reassurance. Or confirmation of something worse. His robes were dishevelled, the collar of his shirt undone, his tie slightly askew like he had yanked at it without realizing. The candlelight cast sharp hollows along his face, accentuating the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his mouth. His hair, usually immaculately in place, was a mess—strands sticking up like he had run his hands through it one too many times. He looked wild. Unsettled.
When he spoke, his voice was too tight, too sharp around the edges. "You—you're alright?" The words came out rushed, tangled, as if he hadn’t meant to say them that way. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and when he spoke again, it was different—measured, lighter. "I mean—of course you are. You're—you know, you."
You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Your limbs felt weighed down, each movement a test of willpower. Instead, you just watched him, eyes tracing the flicker of uncertainty that flashed across his face before he buried it beneath something else—something steadier, more composed.
A mask. One you weren’t sure was meant for your or for himself.
"Sebastian.” Your voice was softer this time, but no less cautious. “What are you doing?"
He stiffened. His grip on the book tightened, knuckles straining against his skin. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came at first—just a breath, sharp and unsteady, like he was bracing himself.
"I—I was just—" he started, the words faltering, tripping over themselves before he caught them. His gaze flickered away, down to the book clutched in his hands, as if he had to remind himself of it. "I found something. I think. It—it might be—"
A sharp inhale. His fingers curled tighter around the brittle parchment, his voice rushing now, words spilling over one another. "It’s not enough, but it’s close. I just—I need to keep looking. There’s more, I know there’s more, I just have to—"
He stopped abruptly, as if realizing how frenzied he sounded. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and forced his expression into something more measured. "I mean—everything is mentioning things about curses but— it's like— there has to be the exact one—"
Sebastian’s voice wavered with urgency, each word coming out more frantic than the last, the book in his hands trembling as if it were an anchor keeping him grounded. His dark eyes darted around the room, flicking over you with an intensity that felt more like searching than concern.
“I—” He paused, jaw clenched. “I need to find it, the spell, the one that’ll—”
He stopped again, as if realizing something, or maybe sensing that you were watching him too closely. His gaze flickered down to the book, his fingers twitching as though he was physically trying to keep his thoughts from spilling out all at once.
“Sebastian, you’re shaking,” you said softly, but the words held weight.
He looked up at your then, his breath coming too fast. The wildness in his gaze only sharpened, like a storm too close to contain. He looked as if he were about to say something more, but then he just inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing in concentration.
“It’s not enough,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “The magic in these books, it’s all twisted, broken. But—there’s more, I know it. I can feel it.”
You took a cautious step closer, every movement a calculated decision. Your body was still burning with the lingering pain, the ache that spread through your like a poison, but you forced it back, pushing the feeling to the back of your mind. You weren’t going to let it show, not now.
“Sebastian, what are you talking about?” Your voice was steady, though a flicker of something sharp ran through the words. You didn’t like the way he was speaking, the desperation edging into his tone, the way the intensity in his eyes seemed to burn through you.
He swallowed hard, fingers clutching the book so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. “Well, it’s—it’s for Anne. You... I can’t fix her. Not the way I thought. But I’ll—I’ll find a way to make it right. There’s always a way.” His voice cracked on the last words, but he quickly recovered, steadying himself before continuing.
You studied him, every movement, every shift in his posture. His face was drawn, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the sleepless nights, the obsession that had taken over him.
“Sebastian...” you said again, this time with more force, stepping closer. “What exactly are you looking for? What’s in these books? What’s the real plan here?”
For a moment, his eyes locked onto hers, and you could see the flicker of hesitation. It was brief, but it was there. The briefest second of vulnerability before it was buried again, buried beneath layers of frustration and confusion.
“The curse,” he finally said, his voice low, strained. “I can feel it, sense it. There’s something in these rituals, something that can help you. Something that’ll make them all pay for what they did to her.”
Your stomach turned. You couldn’t stop the sick feeling that twisted through you at the mention of vengeance. Justice. He had mentioned that word before, but now it felt wrong. Wrong in a way you couldn’t explain, a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise.
“Sebastian, no,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm, the touch a careful grounding force. Your fingers brushed the fabric of his sleeve, the tension in his muscles tangible beneath the layers. “This isn’t the way. You can’t—this isn’t about revenge.”
He jerked his arm away from your touch, a look of panic flashing across his face, quickly masked by anger. “What do you know? You think I want to—” He stopped, words faltering again, as if he was realizing that he didn’t even believe what he was saying.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he shot back, his voice rising, a touch of bitterness creeping into the edges. “I’m trying to save your, I am.” His eyes softened slightly, the storm clouding his gaze dissipating just enough to show a glimpse of the desperation beneath. “But I can’t let them just get away with it. I won’t sit back while my sister rots away because somebody had the power to do something and chose not to.”
Your chest tightened. You had never seen him like this, this close to breaking, his mind spiralling into a dangerous place.
“But Sebastian,” you said softly, your voice a little more fragile this time, “this magic—what it’s doing to you, to your mind. It’s already changing you. You’re slipping into something darker.”
He flinched, his body stiffening as your words struck a nerve. “I’m not—” he started, but his voice cracked, and for a second, it was like he didn’t know what to say anymore. “I’m doing this for Anne. You’re everything to me.”
“I know,” you whispered, stepping closer. Your hands trembled at your sides, fighting the instinct to reach for him, but you could see him pushing back, not just from your, but from everything that had been weighing on him.
“You’re not alone in this,” you said, your words as steady as you could make them. “But don’t let your pain drive you to this point.”
Sebastian’s eyes closed briefly, his breath hitching. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, turning away from your, facing the books again. The air in the room felt colder, more suffocating as he began speaking to himself, barely noticing the way his voice seemed to spiral into an endless loop.
“I just need more. I just need to find the right one...” he mumbled, as though trying to convince himself of something he couldn’t fully grasp.
You stepped forward and took hold of his wrist, your fingers firm around his skin as you pulled him back to face you. “Sebastian, stop. You need to listen. You’re not hearing me.”
He jerked his arm away from your grip, a flash of frustration crossing his features. His chest heaved with a sharp exhale before he threw his hands up in exasperation.
“And how is it any different?” he shot back, his voice tinged with a bitter edge. “How is it any different from you going after the poachers? Or all those dark wizards you’ve fought? You didn’t hesitate then—so why should I now?”
Your heart skipped at his words. He was right, in a twisted way. You had done things too, things you weren’t proud of. But this? This felt different.
“What do you mean, why should you now?” you spat, finally breaking. Your words came faster, the frustration you had been keeping in seeping through, a storm of emotion breaking loose. “You’re talking about dark magic, Sebastian. You’re talking about destroying yourself for a chance at getting back at someone. At taking revenge. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking just fine,” he snapped, eyes flashing. He took a step forward, bringing them uncomfortably close, his presence overwhelming. “Don’t act like you know what this feels like. You’ve never lost someone you love and been powerless to do anything about it.”
Your breath hitched at his words, but you didn’t back down. “I’ve lost people, too,” you countered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I get it, Sebastian. I understand the rage, the helplessness. But this? This isn’t you. It isn’t who you are.”
He stood silent for a moment, his face softening only slightly before hardening again. “You think I want to lose myself in this?” he asked quietly, though there was a bitter edge to his voice now. “I’m not choosing this. But I have to do whatever it takes.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. Your hands were shaking, your body still aching with the remnants of the curse, but you forced herself to focus. Something was brewing deep in your chest; anxiety or fear you couldn’t decide. You took a deep breath, your voice quieter but firm. “I’m not letting you do this. Not for Anne, not for anyone. This isn’t the way.”
His eyes searched hers, desperate, but there was something unreadable in his gaze, something lost. “And what if it is?” he whispered, his voice almost raw. “What if this is the only way?”
Sebastian’s gaze hardened as he glared back at your, a storm brewing in his eyes. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, voice thick with bitterness. “You obviously can’t. This isn’t just about revenge. This is about saving you. You think the Ministry can help you? Or my uncle? What about the people at St. Mungo’s? They can’t do anything. They won’t. You’re slipping through our fingers, and I’m the only one who can do something.”
You opened your mouth, but no words came out at first. The anger rose in your chest, settling like a knot in your stomach. You felt your hands tremble, the fury bubbling beneath the surface, but you clenched your fists to control it.
“No one else is going to save her,” Sebastian continued, his voice rising, the desperation cutting through his words. “And no one else is going to make them pay for what they’ve done. I’m the only one who can fix this, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you’re not the person I thought you were.”
The words cut deeper than he intended, but they didn’t break you. Instead, they fuelled the fire in your chest, making your pulse quicken. You stepped forward, ignoring the sharp pang of pain that still crawled through your body. You were done keeping your thoughts in check.
“You think this is about saving Anne?” you snapped, your voice barely controlled, the tension in your chest making it harder to breathe.
Beside your Ominis flinched, his hand twitched toward you, an instinct to offer support—comfort, even—but you quickly pulled away, your breath hitching. Not now, Ominis. You couldn’t deal with his concern, not when everything felt like it was unravelling.
“You’re wrong,” you continued, your gaze sharp, your voice growing colder. “This isn’t about you. It’s about you thinking you can control everything—everyone.”
He froze, the tension in the room thickening around them. Ominis didn’t argue. He wouldn’t. His presence, the faint shift of his weight on the stone floor, was all that marked his silent worry. You knew he understood. But it didn’t matter.
You couldn’t stop yourself now, the words tumbling out faster than you could stop them, your chest tightening with frustration. “I’ve lost so many people, Sebastian. So many. And you know what? I didn’t have the luxury of getting revenge or making everything right again. You want to fix everything? Then start by looking at what’s in front of you, not some damn curse or twisted spell.”
Your voice cracked on the last words, the weight of your unspoken truth pressing down harder than you anticipated. You didn’t want him to know. You couldn’t bear to tell him. But it was there, unspoken, just beneath the surface.
Sebastian took a step back, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before narrowing.
His mouth opened slightly, as if he might deny it—might defend himself—but no words came. For a heartbeat, the mask cracked. A flicker of something else passed through his eyes—guilt? Doubt?
Then it was gone. His jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened, his fury reigniting like a flame starved of air for too long.
The tension in the room was thick, his chest rising and falling with each breath. “I don’t need you to understand,” he said quietly, but the words carried a sharp edge, like they were meant to wound. “I just need you to stay out of the way. I’m doing this, with or without you.”
Your heart thudded in your chest, and you didn’t want to admit it, but it felt like the final straw. Your patience snapped. “You want to talk about retribution?” you spat, your voice trembling with the force of your anger. “What about yourself, Sebastian? What about what this is doing to you? Because I see it. I see you spiralling, and I’m telling you right now, you’re not going to find redemption in this. You’re not going to find anything but more darkness.”
Sebastian flinched as if the words stung, but then his eyes hardened once again, his anger flaring back. “You think I don’t know that?” he hissed. “I’m not stupid. But I’m doing this for you. You can’t- or won’t understand that, but I don’t need you to.”
Your breath hitched as you clenched your fists, fighting the urge to lash out. You couldn’t—you wouldn’t let him drag you into this madness. “Sebastian, you’re not the only one who’s ever lost someone,” you said through gritted teeth, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “And maybe I can’t fix everything, but I don’t lose myself trying. And I won’t let you.”
He stepped closer, his expression furious, but there was something else behind his eyes, something darker. “Then what do you expect me to do, huh? Let you suffer?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You really think that if I just sit back and let the world spin its way, I’m going to be okay with that? Anne’s dying, and I’m the only one who can save her.”
"Sebastian, you’re not listening!" You were shaking now, frustration mounting with every word he spat in your direction. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, a futile attempt to control the emotions that were spiralling out of control. "This is enough, we’re done here. We’re leaving."
"Leaving?" Sebastian laughed bitterly, stepping closer to you. His eyes burned with an intensity that only made your feel smaller. "You think you're in control of this? You think you get to decide? We’re talking about your—Anne, my sister! Do you have any idea what it’s like to see your sister wasting away, helpless? If you’re not willing to make the hard decisions, fine! Don’t stand in my way. I won’t let you suffer because you think this is some moral high ground!"
"Stop using Anne as an excuse!" You snapped; your voice louder than you intended. The words stung like acid. "You're dragging us all down, Sebastian. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. It seems never have."
Sebastian’s face darkened. "And what the hell do you know about me?" He was close now, close enough that you could feel his breath, hot and desperate. "I didn’t ask for this, for any of it. But now that we have a way, I’m not going to stop—not for you, not for anyone. You can sit there with your moral superiority all you want, but it won’t change the fact that the only way to save Anne is by using this!"
The air around them began to hum, a barely perceptible shift, like static building up before a storm. But neither of them noticed. You were too angry, too hurt by his words, and he was too consumed, too overwhelmed.
A weight pressed against your ribs. The words felt like they were suffocating your, every syllable a slap. The frustration and the hurt came crashing down on your at once, a tidal wave that you couldn’t hold back. Your ancient magic, that faint tinge of blue swirling at your core, surged in response to your outburst. You could feel it.
Feel it creeping up from the depths, like a living thing.
A heavy stillness settled over the chamber, pressing against your ribs like an iron vice. The air felt thick, suffocating, yet you forced herself to keep your breathing steady. One inhale. One exhale. Your hands curled into fists at your sides as you held your ground against Sebastian, his expression flickering between frustration and something darker.
You could feel it worming in, that strange hum beneath your skin. Faint, at first. A whisper at the edges of your awareness. It coiled in your stomach, curling around your ribs, the sensation neither warm nor cold but something in between—like a held breath before a storm. The more Sebastian spoke, the tighter it wound, coiling, twisting, writhing in response to the sharp edge of your anger.
You clenched your jaw. It was fine. You were fine. You just had to hold on a little longer.
But the weight of it only grew. The candlelight flickered, dimming in and out of focus, shadows stretching and contorting at the edges of your vision. You shifted your stance, suddenly unsteady. Something inside your pulsed, an erratic beat hammering against the walls of your ribs. It didn’t hurt—yet—but it was there, pressing, pushing, waiting.
Sebastian took a step closer, his voice cutting through the thick air between them, sharper now, demanding. You flinched. It wasn’t the words themselves that rattled your but the way they struck something deep inside your chest, sending another pulse through your veins.
In an instant, everything shattered.
Books—thousands of them—shot from the shelves, their bindings splintering in mid-air as they were torn from their resting places. The lecterns shook violently, toppling over, their pages flapping like wings in a desperate attempt to escape. Glass shattered with a deafening crack as windows splintered into a thousand jagged shards, cascading down like rain.
The floor beneath your seemed to buckle, the force of the magic warping the very fabric of the room. A crackling energy spiralled upward, wrapping around the balcony, pulling it apart. The once-sturdy wood groaned in protest before giving way, the entire structure collapsing with a violent crash, sending dust and debris into the air, scattering books across the room like confetti.
The ancient magic, untamed and wild, continued to roar around your, thrumming through every inch of the space, as though it had finally been set free.
And then, just as quickly as it came, it snapped back into place, leaving the room in a suffocating silence, the aftermath of destruction hanging in the air.
====================================
The dust in the Scriptorium hung thick in the air as the ceiling groaned, cracking under the strain of the crumbling balcony. You could feel the tremors of the ancient magic coursing through you, a raw power that was not your own, nor fully under your control. The voice inside your head was insistent, relentless, its words like fire burning in your skull.
You can’t control this... You need dark magic to control it. Only then will you be able to harness this power.
Your body trembled violently as the voice echoed louder. The sharp sting of agony from the curse you'd taken earlier was a constant hum beneath everything—an insidious reminder of your helplessness.
“No!” you gasped, your chest heaving. You barely noticed the tears slipping down your cheeks as you fought to keep yourself grounded, but the voice… it was too strong. It had found its way into your mind, tainting your thoughts, pushing you toward something dark.
Your skin burned, as if fire was racing beneath it, crawling under your flesh, making you feel like you were being torn apart from the inside out. Every breath was sharp and ragged, each one laced with a pain that felt like it was suffocating you. You could feel the magic twisting through you, contorting your insides as the power surged, wrapping around your heart, threatening to crush it.
It wasn’t just physical pain—it was a gnawing, relentless pressure, like every part of you was fighting against something far bigger than you could understand. The air around you was suffocating, and the ground seemed to shift beneath you, adding dizziness to the agony already clouding your senses.
You need darkness to tame this. You’re too weak. It will consume you unless you embrace it.
Your hands shot up, desperately trying to pull at your robes, as if you could strip away the foreign presence creeping into your soul. You didn't know if it was the magic or the pain that had you shaking, but you couldn’t stop yourself from clawing at your arms, trying to rip the feeling away.
“Agh!” you cried, your voice strained, but the words weren’t enough to drown out the voice in your mind.
Ominis' hands were at your sides immediately, firm but gentle, trying to steady you. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, the touch warm against the coldness that had overtaken your skin. His face was drawn, strained, his breath quick as he struggled to understand what was happening to you, but his heart was full of nothing but concern.
“I’ve got you,” he urged softly, his voice laced with panic as he tried to keep your hands down, his own trembling. “Just breathe, I’ve got you right here.”
You could feel his presence, so close, but it wasn’t enough. The voice demanded more. You need darkness to control this. You’re nothing without it.
Sebastian stood at a distance, frozen, his gaze locked on the two of you. His eyes were wide, filled with a strange, awe-stricken wonder as he watched your struggle, his lips barely moving as he murmured under his breath.
"Untapped potential..." he muttered, his voice low, a hint of admiration lacing the words. "She has so much more than she knows."
Ominis whipped his head toward Sebastian, his breath ragged as he screamed, “Sebastian! Help me! She’s going to hurt herself—help me hold her down!”
For a moment, Sebastian didn’t respond, his gaze distant, lost in his own thoughts. Then, as if snapping back to reality, his face shifted, a strange light flashing in his eyes. He moved forward, his movements sharp and focused, though there was still an edge of hesitation to his steps.
"Right," he muttered, his voice cool but laced with urgency. "I’ll help. Hold on."
But Ominis didn’t hear Sebastian’s words clearly, not in that moment. His focus was entirely on you, on your frantic movements, on the way you fought against the agony and the power inside of you. He couldn’t let you fall deeper into it.
His grip tightened around your arms as you struggled, and he whispered, “Tell me what I can do, please.”
But the voice inside your head only grew louder, more insistent. It was suffocating, urging you toward darkness, promising control in exchange for everything else. Embrace it. Only then will you be free.
The pain intensified, a twisting, scorching fire that felt like it was ripping through every nerve in your body, making it feel like your skin was crawling off you. Your vision blurred as sweat dripped down your face, the heat unbearable. Your hands jerked again, desperate, and Ominis flinched as your fingers fought against his grip, your eyes wild with panic. "No, I don’t want it!" you cried out again, your voice cracking, the words barely audible through the rasp in your throat.
You could barely focus on the sound of Ominis' voice as he tried to calm you, his hands steadying yours, trying to keep you from tearing at yourself. Every second felt like it stretched into an eternity, the pain only becoming sharper, more intense, until it felt like your very bones were on fire.
Sebastian finally reached you, his movements frantic as he clambered over the rubble, his hands scraping against the broken stone in his haste. His breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, but the murmurs never stopped, a quiet stream of words spilling from his lips. He wasn’t looking at Ominis anymore, his focus entirely on you, as though he could see something no one else could. His hands briefly brushed against Ominis’ in the attempt to hold you down, but he didn’t seem to notice, his eyes gleaming with an almost unsettling fascination as they locked on you.
“She doesn’t know it yet... but she’s destined for so much more,” he whispered, barely audible, his voice low and distant. The words slipped from his mouth like a hidden truth, his admiration evident.
Ominis whipped his head back toward Sebastian, his heart racing as he screamed in desperation, "Sebastian, for Merlin’s sake, help me!" His voice cracked under the strain, but Sebastian didn’t respond immediately. He was still staring at you, lost in his fascination.
The agony that surged through you was relentless, but it wasn’t just the pain. It was the power—the uncontrollable, thrumming force within you—that began to pulse and crackle. With each wave of pain, it grew stronger, more erratic. You could feel it tearing at the very edges of your control, threatening to break free entirely. The walls around you trembled, the ancient stone groaning in protest as the Scriptorium seemed to quake, the ceiling cracking and fragments of stone tumbling down in a cascade of debris.
Ominis’ heart clenched as he felt the vibrations in the air, the magic spiralling dangerously out of control. “Look for the way out!” he barked at Sebastian, his voice strained and urgent. “Now! We don’t have much time!”
He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he moved with a speed born from desperation, his hands tightening on your arms as he pulled you into his grasp. You were so light in his arms, but the weight of the moment was crushing. Without a second thought, Ominis positioned you on his back, your weakened form slumped against him as he gripped his wand tightly, his only source of light in the chaos.
The Scriptorium was collapsing around them, the ancient wood of the bookshelves groaning and splintering as the power in the air surged higher. But Ominis didn’t hesitate. He focused on getting you out—away from here—and as he moved, the path forward became clearer in his mind, his senses sharp despite the madness surrounding them.
The rumble of the Scriptorium’s destruction echoed in his ears as he forced his body to move, your frail form on his back a reminder of everything he was trying to protect. “Hold on,” he whispered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear him. His mind raced, calculating every movement, every step.
But the world around them was a blur—flickering light, debris, crumbling stone—and Ominis couldn’t afford to look back. Not yet.
Content Warning - Lack of formatting? (someone help I beg) Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pain, Spiralling!Sebastian Sallow, Endearing Nicknames, Flashbacks, Ominis would burn down the world for you (and I love it), This is literally so self indulgent (I love yearning men)
Summary - Trapped in Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, you, Ominis Gaunt, and Sebastian Sallow are forced to make an unforgivable choice—one that will leave scars far deeper than magic itself.
Author's Summary; my version of getting to Slytherin's Scriptorium, but with a bit more angst. Chapter 1 of 4 (maybe)
A.N. - I stopped writing years ago, but I don't see enough love for my boy Ominis. I'm an Ominis-girly through and through. I have an idea of how this ends but we'll also see how I feel lol. Please review/comment - they feed my motivation. Also I did write this instead of my thesis so like pls let me know if it was actually worth it
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The air was heavy. Thick with dust and something far worse.
It curled in your throat, the scent of rot lingering long after you had already taken your next breath. The walls of the Scriptorium stretched high above, their looming presence pressing down like unseen hands, and yet somehow, the space still felt suffocatingly small. The light from your wand barely reached beyond a few feet, casting long, flickering shadows that made the darkness seem alive.
The silence was deafening.
And then you saw her.
Aunt Noctua’s remains lay crumpled before the sealed door, her bony fingers still outstretched toward salvation that never came. Her tattered robes, once fine, were stiff with age, pooled around her skeletal frame in a final, undignified heap.
Your stomach twisted.
But it wasn’t just her remains that caught your attention—it was what surrounded them.
The word Crucio had been carved into the stone, deep enough that the grooves were still sharp despite time’s best efforts to wear them away. It was jagged, uneven—done with a shaking hand.
And beside her, a wand.
Snapped in two. The broken edges blackened and burnt. A sign of how many times she had tried. How many times she had forced herself to endure.
And still, it had not been enough.
A breath hitched beside you.
Ominis.
His face was unreadable, but his cloudy eyes—usually so guarded—gave him away. A deep crease had formed between his brows, his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. His pale irises, though sightless, moved as if trying to chase away the horrible images forming in his mind. His fingers twitched at his sides.
Sebastian stepped forward, his boots scraping against the stone. His gaze lingered on Noctua’s remains for only a moment before flicking toward the door. His expression hardened.
“So, this is it,” he murmured. “This is what happened to her.”
“She died here, Sebastian.” Ominis’ voice was quiet, but there was a tremor beneath it.
Sebastian didn’t look disturbed. He barely even looked concerned. “And do you know why?” His gaze flickered back to the word on the ground. “She hesitated. She wasted time. That’s why she—”
“That’s why what?” Ominis’ voice was razor-sharp.
Sebastian hesitated—only for a fraction of a second. “That’s why she didn’t make it,” he said, but something about the way he spoke made your skin crawl.
Ominis turned his head slightly. His expression darkened. “You pity her.” The words weren’t a question.
Sebastian scoffed. “I don’t—”
“You think she was weak.” Ominis’ breath came faster, something fraying at the edges of his composure. “You look at her, and you see someone who should have just gotten on with it, don’t you?”
You could see the war in his head. He wanted to deny it. He knew he should deny it. But he didn’t believe it.
Ominis let out a slow, humourless laugh. “You’re disgusting.”
Sebastian’s expression flickered. Just for a second.
Then his face hardened. “I’m disgusting? You’re the one pretending she had a choice!” His voice was rising now, sharp with frustration. He gestured toward the word carved into the ground. “This was the way out. She knew it. And she still couldn’t do it.”
“Because she wasn’t a monster like you!” Ominis snapped.
The words cracked like a whip.
Sebastian’s expression darkened. His eyes held something dangerous, something wrong. His grip on his wand twitched.
“You’d rather we rot down here with her?” His voice dropped, quieter now, but far more dangerous. “You’d rather let Anne suffer, too?”
Ominis inhaled sharply.
You turned to Sebastian—really looked at him.
He was different. Paler. Sharper. His eyes were darker than they should have been, and there was something unsettling in the way he gripped his wand—his fingers twitching, restless.
Something was changing in him.
And Ominis saw it, too. He was gripping his own wand tightly, his knuckles pale. But he said nothing.
Sebastian took another step forward, closing the space between them. “I’m not going to let her suffer because you have a problem with what needs to be done.”
Ominis exhaled sharply through his nose. His shoulders rose—tensed—then, suddenly, he let out a slow breath.
The anger in his face faded.
Not into acceptance.
Into resignation.
“Fine,” he said.
Sebastian blinked. “Fine?”
Ominis straightened, tilting his chin up. “We cast it.”
A beat of silence.
Then, slowly, Sebastian smirked. “Finally. You’re—”
“But you will not touch her.”
Sebastian’s smirk faltered. His gaze flickered to you, then back to Ominis.
Ominis stepped closer. “You will curse me.”
Your breath hitched. “Ominis—”
His head turned slightly toward you. His brows furrowed, something tightening in his jaw. “I won’t let you take it.”
Sebastian exhaled sharply. “And you refuse cast it.”
“Exactly.” Ominis squared his shoulders. “That’s why you will do it. And you will listen to me. You will do it properly.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I know how to—”
“No, you don’t.” Ominis’ voice cut through the space like ice. “If you don’t mean it, it won’t work. If you hesitate, it will be worse.” He exhaled, voice dropping lower. “If you do it wrong, Merlin knows if you’ll be able to do it again.”
Sebastian didn’t respond.
Ominis took another breath. His hands trembled at his sides, but he didn’t step back.
“Do it right the first time.”
Sebastian lifted his wand.
Your heart pounded. You stepped forward before you even realized it. “Wait—”
Ominis turned sharply. “Stay out of this.”
You froze.
His expression was unreadable now, his pale eyes like ghostly embers in the dim light. His hands were still shaking.
But not from fear.
He was bracing himself.
Sebastian hesitated for only a second.
Then—
"Crucio."
====================================
You didn’t think.
You just did.
Before either of them could stop you, before Ominis could say another word, you threw yourself forward—toward him.
It was a desperate, instinctual movement. The force of it made your heart race as you curled your body around his, pushing him back with your arms, shielding him with your body—your back preparing to take the curse.
“Wait!” Ominis’ voice cracked, panicked and desperate, but it was too late.
Your eyes were already fixed on Ominis.
Sebastian hestitated. The curse shot from his wand with a violent crack.
The air itself seemed to bend, contort, twist around the curse as it rocketed toward you. The sound of it hitting the air was deafening—like a whip cracking, followed by a deep, unnerving hum of raw, unrelenting power.
But something was wrong.
The curse didn’t feel right.
The red lightning that arced from Sebastian’s wand was jagged—unnatural. It flickered in violent, erratic patterns, crackling around the room like it was searching for something to latch onto, something to devour.
It was more than just wrong. It was dangerous.
And then, in a flash of agonizing pain, it slammed into your back.
Your body seized.
It felt like the bones in your spine were being ripped out one by one. The pain spread, deep and searing, until every muscle in your body was burning. Your breath caught in your throat, suffocating you. It was like your entire body had been set alight from the inside, but the fire wasn’t the kind that could burn away your pain—it was the kind that tore you apart, piece by piece.
You couldn’t scream.
Your lungs refused to work.
The pain was suffocating. It pulled every breath from your body, leaving nothing but raw, unrelenting agony.
Your vision blurred. Every edge of your sight frayed and split, and the world seemed to distort around you.
But it was the sound that cut the deepest—the sound of your own voice, trying to scream, but only a horrible, strangled cry escaping your lips.
Ominis shouted something, but his voice was lost in the crackling chaos around you.
You could hear nothing but the storm that raged inside your chest, the writhing agony in your spine, the sickeningly sharp pain that seemed to dig deeper with every pulse of the curse.
Sebastian’s intent was wrong—too strong.
You felt the wrongness in every electric current that shot through your body.
Your back arched as if you were being pulled in two, the pain pulling you taut like a bowstring. The curse writhed, unrelenting, twisting deeper, tearing your insides apart with each vicious shock that sent ripples of red lightning across your vision. The crackling of the curse itself seemed to snap and crackle, like an unnatural storm roaring above you. It was as though the curse was alive—hunting you, tearing through you with no mercy, with no end.
You barely noticed Ominis’ frantic, shaking hands reaching for you, his fingers brushing against your arm. His touch was like fire, his body trembling violently with the effort to pull you away from the curse that was consuming you.
But it wasn’t enough.
The agony surged again, more intense than before, sending you collapsing forward, barely managing to keep yourself upright. Your entire body felt hollow. Numb. But the pain... the pain was far from over. It kept coming, wave after wave of agony so intense it felt like your body was splitting apart.
Your heart hammered. Your body screamed for mercy that would never come.
And still, Sebastian didn’t stop.
His expression was twisted, consumed by the power he had unleashed. His face was a grimace of frustration, his eyes locked on you—his focus now entirely on you, his rage growing with every second the curse refused to let go.
“Sebastian! Stop!” Ominis shouted again, but his voice was lost to the air around them.
Sebastian’s hand clenched tighter around his wand, his voice muttering curses under his breath, as though he couldn’t hear Ominis’ plea. His grip on the wand tightened, and the curse continued to pulse through with a brutal shock.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The pressure inside you was unbearable, but Sebastian was too far gone—he was too consumed by his own anger and frustration, too deep in the darkness of the curse he had cast.
Ominis’ eyes widened in realization.
His lips twisted into something tight and furious, and with a single, furious motion, he cast Depulso.
The force of it hit Sebastian’s chest like a cannonball, sending him stumbling backward with a sharp gasp. His wand slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, his concentration shattering as his wide eyes locked onto Ominis.
“What the hell, Ominis?” Sebastian growled, his confusion clear, his face flushed with irritation.
But Ominis didn’t care. His breathing was heavy, his anger clearly evident.
“What the hell? What do you mean ‘what the hell’? You just—” Ominis’ voice was strained, choked with fury as he stepped forward. “You nearly killed her, Sebastian. You—”
Sebastian blinked, still disoriented by the sudden force of the spell. “I—what? I was trying to—”
But Ominis wasn’t listening anymore.
His hands were shaking as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “Don’t you ever—” he started, but his voice cracked. His anger softened, replaced by something almost like desperation. “Don’t you ever do something like that again.”
Sebastian didn’t move, standing there with his eyes wide in confusion, his breath still ragged from his outburst. “Ominis… I didn’t mean—”
Ominis didn’t respond. His focus was on you now, his hand gently brushing the hair from your face, his eyes wild and desperate as he cradled you against him.
Sebastian’s face fell, realization starting to set in. He had pushed too far; gone too far down a path he was already walking.
But Ominis didn’t care for the explanation.
He was angry. Furious. Furious at Sebastian for the reckless violence of it all, furious at him for the danger he had almost put you in.
And he wasn’t willing to let it slide.
====================================
The stone wall rumbled with a low, deep groan, and then the crackling of ancient magic reverberated through the room. The wall split with a sharp, jagged sound, and the heavy stone blocks moved apart, revealing the passageway to Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium. Dark, swirling shadows pulsed from the newly revealed entrance, as though the very air itself shuddered with the raw magic that lingered in this forbidden space.
Sebastian’s attention snapped immediately to the opening, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination. He began to step forward, but Ominis’ voice cut through the thick tension in the air like a whip.
“No.” The word was sharp, laced with a dangerous finality. His fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve, gripping tightly as though to keep you tethered to him. “We’re not going in there.”
Sebastian hesitated, confused. “What? We came here for this, Ominis. We’ve got to finish this. The Scriptorium is right there.”
Ominis’ breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. He could hear the desperation in Sebastian’s voice, but it only made his stomach twist further. His pulse quickened as he glanced down at you, the pain still evident in your features, and he cursed under his breath. His voice shook, though he tried to mask it with force.
“You’ve done enough,” Ominis spat, his words sharp like the crack of a whip. His grip tightened around your arm, and he shifted closer to you, his fingers trembling slightly. The sight of you still reeling from the curse gnawed at him. The fury swirled inside him, growing with every second.
Then, you stirred—slightly, as if to push yourself up, to stand despite the searing pain still running through your body. You grimaced, trying to brush it off as if you were okay, but the effort failed you. A strangled grunt escaped your throat, and your hands clenched at your side. The force of the agony made tears spring to your eyes, a sob escaping before you could stop it. Your body shook, unable to bear the pressure of movement.
Ominis’ breath caught in his throat. His heart clenched at the sight of you trying to push through the pain. His expression twisted into something fierce, though it quickly softened as he moved closer, his hands steadying you.
“Don’t.” Ominis’ voice was rough, but it softened slightly as he worked to soothe you, his fingers brushing over your skin with a care that belied his rage. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me?”
The touch of his hand on your forehead was almost too gentle for the force in his voice. His trembling fingers continued their delicate path across your skin, the contrast stark against the fury that burned behind his eyes. He could feel the raw heat of your pain beneath the cloth, and it only fuelled the fire inside him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he repeated, his words steady despite the storm raging inside him. “We’re not moving from here until you’re able.”
Sebastian, who had watched the exchange with growing concern, stepped forward once more, though his face was still clouded with confusion.
“I’m trying to help,” Sebastian said, his voice losing some of its earlier certainty, a bit of doubt creeping into his tone. He started to take a step forward, but Ominis immediately tensed.
“No,” Ominis snarled, his voice thick with barely contained fury. “You’re not helping, Sebastian. You’ve done enough.” His grip tightened around your arm, and he shifted closer to you, his fingers trembling slightly. The anger twisted within him, made more potent by his fear—fear of losing you, fear of what Sebastian’s recklessness had done to you.
He cast a quick glance at the newly opened stone doorway, his mind working furiously. He could feel the cold, oppressive magic of the scriptorium creeping through the air, but he couldn’t focus on that now. You needed him.
His hand snapped into his pocket, his fingers brushing over his handkerchief. With a muttered incantation, water erupted from the tip of his wand, and he quickly conjured a steady stream of it onto the fabric. Holding it against his trembling hand, he pressed the cool cloth to your forehead with a delicate touch.
Sebastian, watching from a distance, seemed to struggle with the unfolding situation. His brows furrowed, his lips pressing together in frustration. He opened his mouth to protest, but then his gaze flicked to the scriptorium again. The door, still open, seemed to beckon. There was no denying the pull of it, the promise of answers hidden within those darkened walls. But then his gaze slid back to Ominis—saw the fury in his posture, the raw emotion radiating from him. For the first time, a hint of uncertainty crossed his face.
Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to compose himself. His voice dropped to something a little lighter, though the edge of urgency remained. “Hey, come on, you’ve got to admit, we’ve come this far. We can’t just turn back now, right?” He flashed a small, almost amused smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll help you, and we’ll sort this out together, yeah? The Scriptorium’s right there.”
He started to take a step closer to you, his hand outstretched, as though trying to coax you into moving with him, like nothing had happened. His tone was light, trying to make it sound easy—like you could simply walk into the scriptorium and leave the pain behind.
Before Sebastian could take another step, Ominis was already moving, quickly shifting from his position on the floor. His grip on your arm tightened, and with a forceful but careful motion, he lifted your head onto his rolled-up robe, using it as a cushion. His expression darkened as he placed himself in between you and Sebastian, his body tense, his blind eyes narrowing with barely concealed anger. His breath was shallow, his entire demeanour radiating a storm of emotion.
“You’re not going near her,” Ominis hissed, his voice dangerously low. His wand flicked, and its tip was aimed straight at Sebastian, a warning—sharp and unyielding.
Sebastian stared at Ominis for a long, tense moment, before smirking lightly. “Or else what?”
Ominis’ grip on his wand tightened, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the wood. The tension in the air thickened, and his jaw clenched. He knew that if Sebastian pushed further, the situation would escalate beyond words, beyond warnings. The frustration—and something far more dangerous—radiated from Ominis as he stared down at Sebastian.
Ominis stepped forward, rising from his crouch, his body broad and solid despite his lean build. His height loomed over Sebastian, though the other boy was far more muscular. Still, Ominis had the advantage of reach and anger. His stance was one of quiet threat, every inch of his body vibrating with raw emotion. He towered over Sebastian, his blind eyes dark and sharp, betraying none of the hesitation that once might have softened his words.
His voice dropped low, the tension in his chest tight, his words a sharp warning. “Don’t ever try me again. You’ve done enough, Sebastian. Now stay the hell away from her.”
Sebastian’s face flickered with a mix of frustration and confusion. He took a half-step back, looking Ominis over, then back at the girl lying behind his friend. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his jaw tightened as he met Ominis’ unwavering gaze. He opened his mouth to retort but shut it again with a huff, clearly seeing that Ominis was beyond the point of reason.
Ominis didn’t give him another chance to argue. He stepped fully between Sebastian and you, his stance firm, his wand still held at the ready. “I won’t let you drag her into this any further,” he snarled, his voice trembling with the heat of anger. “Not while I’m still standing.”
The air was thick with tension as Ominis stared down at Sebastian, his wand unwavering. His gaze was a silent threat, an unspoken promise that anyone who tried to get closer to you would find themselves facing the full force of Ominis Gaunt’s fury.
Sebastian stared up at Ominis, unflinching, his eyes scanning the tall, lean figure of his friend—his once-trusted companion—who now stood between him and the girl they both cared about. His lips curled into a smirk, though there was no real humour in it. He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as he took in the storm brewing in Ominis’ posture. The space between them felt thick, charged with something far more volatile than the air around them.
“Or else what?” Sebastian asked, his voice light, though there was a hint of sarcasm that laced his words, as though he didn’t take Ominis’ threat seriously. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back slightly, a mocking glint in his eyes, trying to mask the unease that was beginning to creep in. “You really think you can stop me? I’m your friend, Ominis. You think this is about you and me now? Is this really the hill you want to die on?”
Ominis didn’t move at first. His wand was steady, the tip pointed directly at Sebastian as though it were a warning, but it wasn’t just the wand. It was everything about Ominis: the tense, broad set of his shoulders, the slow, deliberate way he stepped forward. The anger was practically visible, swirling around him like a storm, but it was more than that—it was disappointment that clawed at Ominis’ insides. It made him feel sick. It made his heart ache with the need to protect you.
Sebastian’s smirk faltered slightly as Ominis took that step forward, towering over him despite the smaller, more solid frame of Sebastian. The two of them were different—Ominis was taller, leaner, his body not as physically imposing as Sebastian’s, but there was no doubt Ominis had the upper hand in sheer presence right now. His rage seemed to fill the space between them, suffocating and heavy.
Sebastian let out a small, sarcastic laugh, though it lacked the bite it might’ve had just moments ago. He shifted slightly on his feet, clearly trying to read Ominis, sizing him up, as if searching for a way to defuse the tension or maybe to call his bluff.
“Oh, I see,” Sebastian said, his tone still light but now laced with a touch of defiance. “You think you can just stand there and stop me because I’ve upset you?” He raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that it? Ominis Gaunt, the one who always plays it so carefully, so calmly... suddenly making threats?”
The air between them crackled with rising tension as Ominis didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact. The depth of his silence spoke volumes, and Sebastian could feel the shift in the atmosphere—something darker, something more dangerous. He was still sizing Ominis up, but there was a distinct shift in his own stance now, his feet planted firmly. He was calculating, watching for any sign of hesitation. Still, he refused to be intimidated, refusing to show weakness.
But Ominis was unwavering. He took another step, his voice low, dangerous, vibrating with emotion. “Don’t.” It was more of a growl than a word. “You’ve done enough already, Sebastian.”
Sebastian's confident façade cracked just slightly. He was used to being the one in control, the one who took risks and challenged anyone who stood in his way. But there was something about the way Ominis stood, his posture firm, his blind eyes dark with something like fury that made Sebastian falter—just for a moment.
Still, Sebastian’s smirk didn’t disappear entirely. He was used to the tension, to the games they played, but this... this felt different. The intensity in Ominis’ gaze, the way the wand trembled ever so slightly in his hand—Sebastian could feel the rawness of it, the bite of the anger that Ominis had been holding back for far too long.
“You’re still my friend, Ominis,” Sebastian said, his voice softer now, but the sarcasm remained. He half-expected Ominis to lash out, to say something cruel, to give in to the storm within him—but Ominis didn’t. He just stood there, staring at him with such intensity that it felt like a challenge.
The silence between them grew, thickening with every passing moment. Sebastian felt his heart rate pick up slightly, though he didn’t let it show. He could tell Ominis was no longer just angry. There was something else—something more desperate, more personal. It was the same rage he’d seen in his friend’s eyes when something mattered so much, when it threatened the very core of what they’d once shared.
But Sebastian wasn’t backing down. He stood his ground, meeting Ominis’ unyielding gaze with a spark of defiance in his own eyes. He wanted to say more, to press Ominis to understand that they couldn’t just stop, but there was something in the way Ominis’ body was now squared against him—something in the air that made Sebastian pause, just for a moment. The tension was suffocating, a silent battle between their wills, between their understanding of what needed to happen next.
And then Ominis spoke again, his voice calm but dripping with authority.
“Stay the hell away from her,” he said, his voice low but filled with conviction. “You’re not needed here anymore, Sebastian.”
It was a threat, sure, but it was also an ultimatum. The meaning was clear. Ominis wasn’t about to let Sebastian anywhere near you, not while you were in this state, not while he could feel every fibre of his being screaming to keep you safe.
Sebastian didn’t move for a long moment, his gaze flicking over Ominis, reading him as if searching for weakness. But there was none to find. Instead, there was only the raw intensity in Ominis’ stance, the surety in his voice. And for the first time, Sebastian realized that Ominis wasn’t bluffing. There was no hesitation anymore. This wasn’t the same Ominis who had kept quiet and followed Sebastian’s lead. This was someone who was willing to fight for you—someone who had already decided where his loyalty lay.
Sebastian swallowed hard, but he didn’t back down. His smirk faded, and for a moment, he looked... unsure. A brief flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came.
The silence between them grew, and Sebastian, ever the one to break it with barbed words, leaned in slightly, his voice lighter, but with that unmistakable edge of provocation. “Once a Gaunt, always a Gaunt, right?” He let out a small, dry chuckle, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “All that noble blood running through your veins—just like them. It’s no surprise you’d turn out like this, is it? Condescending, self-righteous, always looking down on the rest of us.”
The words stung, though Sebastian’s voice was too casual for it to seem like anything more than a jab—one that had been waiting to be thrown for some time. His eyes were fixed on Ominis, watching for any sign of a reaction. He knew how to push, how to prod, how to expose the cracks beneath the surface of a person who had been raised with such heavy expectations. Ominis’ family wasn’t just a name—it was a curse, and Sebastian knew it, could see it written in every movement, every word Ominis had ever said.
But Ominis didn’t flinch. Not yet. His grip on his wand tightened, his hand shaking ever so slightly, though his posture remained unnervingly calm.
Sebastian took another step forward, his eyes glittering with that old sense of challenge. “Or are you just trying to surpress the Gaunt in you? Trying to protect the helpless one, because your family would never let you do anything else. Always playing the saviour, aren’t you? Always overcompensating for something rooted deep into you.”
Ominis’ breath hitched slightly, his jaw tightening at the insinuation. His hands clenched into fists, the weight of the accusation sinking into his chest. He could feel the blood rushing to his ears, the heat of anger rising in him like a wave.
But it was more than anger now. It was something else, something deeper. Something born from the years of having that name pressed upon him, of carrying the weight of what his family stood for. The endless expectations. The suffocating belief that he was meant for something darker. And now, here was Sebastian—poking at the old wounds, making it sting once more.
“I’m nothing like them,” Ominis muttered, his voice low, barely above a whisper. But there was a steeliness behind it now, a promise. “I won’t be like them.”
The tension between them thickened, wrapping around both of them like an invisible barrier, each word adding more weight to the words that had been left unspoken for far too long.
Sebastian’s lips twisted into a smirk, his words sharper now, digging deeper. “Sure, Ominis. Keep telling yourself that. But in the end, you’re just as much a Gaunt as they were.”
Ominis’ grip tightened on his wand, and he took a step forward, the movement slow but deliberate, his body a line of unyielding tension. “You know nothing about me,” he ground out, every word laced with fury.
Sebastian paused, a small flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he didn’t back down. “Maybe not,” he said with a shrug, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “But I’ve seen enough to know where your loyalties lie.”
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