Moonlight fractured across the water as you slipped in, the cold sharp enough to steal the breath from your lungs, grounding enough to make you feel real again. You swam because sleep had learned how to avoid you. Because silence pressed too hard against your ribs unless the water took it away first.
You didn’t notice Evan Rosier at first.
He noticed you immediately.
He had been leaning against a tree, coat unbuttoned, cigarette burning low between his fingers, watching the lake the way one watches something dangerous and beautiful. And then you appeared—shedding your clothes without ceremony, leaving them in a careless heap before stepping into the water in nothing but your bra and underwear, moonlight catching on bare skin like it knew you.
Gryffindor to the end.
Evan forgot to breathe.
He told himself to look away. He didn’t.
By the time you swam back, breathless and glowing with cold, the shore felt… wrong. Too bare. Too exposed.
Your clothes were gone.
You froze, water dripping down your spine, heart stuttering in your chest. Then—
“Relax,” a voice murmured from the dark. “I didn’t throw them in.”
Evan stepped forward, your clothes looped loosely over his wrist. His gaze was slow and deliberate as it traced you—not crude, not hurried. Like he was memorizing something he already knew he shouldn’t want.
“You always swim at night,” he said, voice low, almost thoughtful. “Or is that just when you stop pretending you don’t like being seen?”
Your pulse kicked hard. You crossed your arms, more defiant than shy. “Give them back.”
He smiled—sharp, lazy. The kind of smile that had ruined people before.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
You took a step closer to the shore, water dipping just low enough to make the chill unbearable. “Why are you here, Rosier?”
He tilted his head. Studied you. “Funny,” he said. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Another step. He didn’t retreat.
“You shouldn’t be alone out here,” he murmured.
“And yet,” you replied, lifting your chin, “here you are.”
Something dark flickered behind his eyes—something hungry and restrained, like desire caught between teeth.
Evan dropped your clothes onto a rock behind him. But he stayed where he was.
“You know,” he said, voice lowering, “there are easier ways to get my attention.”
You scoffed, though your breath betrayed you. “Trust me. This had nothing to do with you.”
His gaze dipped—your throat, your collarbone, the thin fabric clinging to you, water sliding down skin he very much wanted to touch. When he looked back up, the night felt tighter. Charged.
“Liar,” he murmured.
You reached for your clothes.
He caught your wrist.
Not rough. Just enough.
The contact sent a shock straight through you, and Evan felt it too—saw it in the way your breath hitched, the way your pulse fluttered beneath his thumb.
He leaned in, close enough that you could smell smoke, cold night air, and something unmistakably him.
“Tell me,” he whispered, lips just shy of your ear, voice threaded with restraint, “does it feel like this when you swim?”
You swallowed. “Like what?”
“Like you’re standing on the edge of something you shouldn’t fall into.”
His thumb brushed your pulse once—once—and it nearly undid him. He wanted to drag you closer. Wanted to forget every reason he shouldn’t. Wanted you warm and breathing against him instead of cold and untouchable.
Instead, Evan pulled back first.
Slowly.
Dangerously controlled.
He released you, that familiar smirk settling back into place like armor. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Before I decide stealing your clothes wasn’t enough.”
You grabbed them, hands shaking—not from the cold.
As you pulled them on, you looked up. “You always leave before things get interesting?”
For a moment, the smirk softened. Something honest slipped through.
“No,” he said. “I leave right before they ruin me.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the dark, leaving you by the lake with your heart racing—and the unbearable certainty that next time, if he stayed…
James Potter smells like vanilla extract and cinnamon and something slightly burnt.
He’s barefoot in the kitchen, sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a dusting of flour in his hair like it settled there just to rest. The brown jumper — the one you gave him last Christmas — fits him better this year, clinging in a way that’s almost unfair. You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, pretending to read while he hums out-of-tune carols and wreaks gentle chaos in the kitchen.
He’s smug when he walks over, holding a tray of misshapen cookies like it’s a trophy.
“They’re caramelized,” he announces, far too proudly.
You tilt your head. “They’re burnt.”
He grins, unbothered. “No, darling. Car-a-mel-ized.”
You lean forward to inspect them. “James… the reindeer lost their faces.”
He glances down. One of the cookies has melted into something vaguely goat-like.
“They’re modern art,” he says.
“They’re suffering.”
He laughs, a soft huff through his nose, and sets the tray carefully on the coffee table. Then he collapses onto the couch beside you with a dramatic sigh.
“Well,” he says, resting his head on the back cushion like this is the end of an era. “Darling, I’ve decided I am officially a baking man.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You literally just set Santa’s batch on fire.”
“I didn’t set them on fire—”
“They sizzled, James.”
“They were enthusiastic!”
You bite your lip to hide a grin as he stretches an arm behind you. You shift slightly to make space, only for him to tug you gently against his side, hand coming to rest at your waist.
“If you keep burning cookies like this,” you murmur, “your mum’s never letting you near the oven again.”
He gasps — softly, playfully. “She loves my cookies.”
“She literally moved the fire extinguisher closer.”
He snorts. “Precaution.”
You reach up to flick flour from his hair. “Disaster.”
Still, he smiles. And so do you.
You press a kiss to his cheek, slow and warm. He turns to meet your eyes, and something in his gaze lingers — soft and golden and just a little smug.
“You know,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, “I’d like it on record that I looked incredible while failing.”
You hum. “You did.”
“I mean, this jumper?” He tugs on the sleeve a little. “It brings out my domestic charm.”
You scoff lightly, but you’re already sinking closer, melting into him, sweater and all. “It’s because I bought it.”
“It’s because I wear it,” he whispers, nuzzling your jaw.
Outside, snowflakes keep falling like feathers from a sleeping sky. Inside, it smells like sugar and something scorched and something safe. You close your eyes, and he holds you there — warm hands, warm sweater, warm boy.
The rain had started sometime in the early morning — a steady, whispering rhythm against the windows that made the whole flat feel softer, quieter. The kind of day that asked nothing of you but rest.
You woke alone. James’s side of the bed was empty, but still warm, and his scent clung to the pillow beside you — something faint and familiar: rain-soaked wool, parchment, and the lingering spice of his cologne.
Padding into the living room, you found him exactly where you knew he’d be — curled into the corner of the couch, book open in his lap, legs stretched out in front of him. His hair stuck up in half a dozen directions, and his glasses were slightly smudged. He looked tired and completely at peace.
“Morning,Love” he said, voice soft with sleep.
You didn’t answer — just walked to him and folded yourself into his arms. He welcomed you instantly, one arm sliding around your waist, pulling you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured, lips brushing your hair.
He didn’t wait for a reply — just tugged his sweater over his head and slipped it over yours, tugging the hem down around your hips, smoothing the sleeves over your hands. It was far too big, draping over your frame like a blanket, and smelled exactly like him.
“You’re going to be cold,” you said, muffled into his chest.
“I’ll survive.”
You smiled into the knit fabric and leaned into him fully. He tightened his arms around you, and for a while, there was only the rain, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft rustle of pages turning.
“We don’t have to do anything today,” he murmured. “No obligations. No interruptions. Just this.”
You looked up at him. His eyes were still half-lidded, lips curled faintly at the corners, like he was memorizing the shape of the moment.
“Just this,” you echoed. “Perfect.”
He kissed you — slow and warm — just as the door slammed open behind you.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Sirius declared, soaked to the bone and utterly outraged. “Tell me you two are not snuggled up again in that hideous jumper.”
James groaned. “Sirius—”
Before either of you could protest, Sirius sprinted across the room and launched himself at the both of you — arms outstretched, coat flapping behind him like a cape.
You barely had time to brace for impact before he flopped directly onto your laps, knocking the wind out of you and sending James’s book flying to the floor.
“You don’t knock anymore?” you gasped, half-suffocated under his weight.
Sirius, completely unbothered, stretched his limbs dramatically across you both. “It’s raining. I’m cold. I’ve been abandoned. And I knew you’d be hoarding all the good jumpers and the affection.”
James shoved him without much effort. “You’re a grown man. Get your own jumper.”
“I want yours,” Sirius whined, curling further into the two of you like an overgrown, wet dog. “Or at least the spot in the middle.”
You exchanged a long-suffering glance with James, who mouthed help me behind Sirius’s head.
You tried not to laugh — failed — and gave in, resting your cheek against James’s shoulder again, despite the added weight of Sirius dramatically sighing between you.
“It’s still perfect,” you whispered.
James smiled, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Dick freezes—not in a dramatic way, no sudden gasp or dropped glass—just a quiet stillness, like someone catching sight of a painting they never expected to fall for.
You stretch your arms above your head, your shirt tied loosely at the waist, the curve of your side glowing softly in the sunlight. And there—just beneath the edge of your top, tracing the slope of your shoulder like a secret—is the line.
That perfect, sharp contrast between the sun-kissed bronze of your skin and the soft, untouched patch hidden beneath your clothes.
And god—he’s utterly mesmerized.
Not desperate, not restless. Dick Grayson simply knows beauty when he sees it. And this? This is sacred.
He’s watched you all summer, seen the way your skin deepens to gold, felt the heat settle into your bones. But this—this tan line—is a map. A mark of where the sun has claimed you, and where it hasn’t.
And he wants to trace it. With his fingers. With his lips. Slowly, reverently.
You’re talking—something about how hot the sand was, how your lemonade’s too sweet—but his gaze never leaves that line.
“You’re staring,” you say, not looking up from your glass.
He shrugs, voice low and quiet. “Just thinking about how sunlight’s been lucky enough to touch you more than I have.”
You blink, heat blooming in your chest faster than the sun.
He smiles—a soft, boyish curve with something molten beneath. “You glow,” he murmurs. “Even where it doesn’t reach.”
And you understand what he means.
Not just the skin the sunlight missed — the pale, hidden places.
But all of you. The pieces the world sees. And the ones you keep tucked away, quiet and untouched.
Parts he wants to explore, not with hunger, but with quiet wonder.
The uneven light on your skin—the contrast of gold and pale, warmth and shadow—it’s a story told wordlessly, one he’s been waiting to read.
And in that moment, you’re not just the girl beside him.
You are the sun itself.
————————————————————————————————————————————————•
Okayy this is my first ever post, soo i hope you guys enjoy it.
Warnings: Unrequited love, jealousy from many ends, the reader is shorter than Theo, and wears a bikini. Theo calls reader fiore. Discomfort/sadness. Reader doesn’t really know how to swim. Brief mentions of blood. There’s for sure more but I’m gonna have to go back and add them!
A/N: Omg hi! This has been a long time coming, and not much has been added, just a couple new scenes and some more details added. Most of the rewrite will be in the second part, but it feels too much to have a 30k+ fic posted in one go. So I’m dividing it up! Since it’s been so long I figured I’d post this to hold you guys over, thank you for being so patient! It’s much appreciated! <3
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
Against your better judgment, you’d fallen hard for Mattheo Riddle. And yet, you were fully aware that nothing would ever come of it.
You’d grown up in the same circles, your families often crossing paths at dinners and parties, but you were never particularly close, barely acknowledging each other in those polished, formal settings. It wasn’t until you both started at Hogwarts that any real friendship formed. Being eleven and navigating the overwhelming experience of a new school was daunting for anyone. When you were both sorted into Slytherin, you naturally gravitated toward each other, being the most familiar thing the other could find.
Over time, you’d been there for him more times than you could count. You were the one cleaning his cuts after a fight, always telling him it was the last time because you couldn’t bear to see him get hurt. Yet, each time he showed up, you let him in with an exasperated huff, carefully tending to his wounds. When he’d appear at your door late at night, eyes dark with whatever was haunting him, you’d silently walk with him, sitting together in the quiet of the common room until the tension in his shoulders finally eased. You’d pretend to be annoyed when he asked to copy your coursework, but in truth, you savored every moment he sat close to you—the way his arm would brush against yours as he scribbled down your notes, the warmth of him, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. It left you longing for him to stay close just a little longer, even though you knew he never would.
He moved from one fling to the next, a string of one-night stands that never seemed to reach his heart. While you’d never been one of them, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if you were. A stubborn, hopeless part of you clung to the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, he’d one day let you be the one he trusted with more than just a night tangled in the sheets.
Your friends always joked that if Mattheo ever got serious about a girl, it would be you—but you knew the chances of that were painfully slim.
So you were caught off guard when you walked into the common room and saw a girl you barely recognized sitting with your friends. Cozied up in the same armchair as Mattheo. Your steps faltered as you approached, trying to piece together who she was and why she was sitting with your friends and more specifically, Mattheo. It wasn’t that you were opposed to meeting new people, but your group had never once welcomed anyone new. You’d tried, it didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.
“Hey, love.” Enzo murmurs, patting the cushion beside him on the couch. He’s the only one who’s noticed you so far; the rest are absorbed in their heated discussion about the latest Quidditch match. You were never particularly interested in discussing Quidditch—what interested you was watching Mattheo talk about it. There was just something undeniably attractive about listening to his voice when he talked about something that interested him.
You slide onto the couch next to Enzo, your gaze briefly flicking to the girl sitting directly across from you, trying to place her without being too obvious about your stare.
“Hey, Enz.” You say with a soft smile, setting your bag down as you settle onto the couch.
“What’s going on?” You tilt your head toward the girl, and Enzo glances in her direction. She’s not paying attention, her gaze fixed on Mattheo with a lovesick expression, hanging onto his every word.
“I’m not sure,” Enzo replies quietly, ensuring his voice doesn’t carry. “Mattheo just introduced us, and we’re all a bit confused about it, too I think.”
“Oh.” You murmur, and Enzo watches you carefully. He knows about your feelings for Mattheo; he’d have to be blind not to notice.
Enzo leans in closer, and you shift your gaze to him. “Listen, love—”
Enzo doesn’t get to finish before a soft gasp of your name catches your attention. You look over, surprised to see the girl leaning forward with her hand extended. You briefly wonder how she knows your name and if you should know hers too.
You notice that her other hand still has a tight grip on Mattheo.
“I’m Veronica,” she says warmly, her smile never wavering. “Mattheo’s girlfriend.” The way she emphasizes the word girlfriend startles you—it takes a second to register, and then it hits you like a punch to the gut.
Girlfriend. When did Mattheo Riddle start dating?
And why wasn’t he introducing her himself?
You’re at a loss for words, a nauseous feeling curling around you, tightening its grip until you’re not sure you could speak even if you tried. You know you should smile, should tell her how happy you are to meet her. But you can’t find it in you to do so, not when you’d rather be anywhere but here.
You swallow the urge to ask if she’s joking, if she’s hit her head, because Mattheo Riddle isn’t a relationship guy. No one knows that better than you.
Yet, you’re rooted to the spot in stunned silence, your gaze flitting between her hand, now entwined with Mattheo’s, and the soft, content smile playing on her lips.
Your mind races, struggling to process the situation that’s just blindsided you. You always knew he’d never be yours—not in the way you wanted—but hearing it, seeing it laid out so plainly before you, feels like your heart has been ripped from your chest.
You force a smile, so strained it makes your head spin, and you finally take her hand, the gesture automatic and devoid of real warmth. “Nice to meet you.” You manage to say, though the words feel foreign on your tongue.
Her smile widens, and she shifts closer to Mattheo as if silently asserting her place by his side. Your eyes flicker to Mattheo, whose attention is pulled to Veronica as she presses closer into him. You’re not surprised he’s been oblivious to the conversation, or lack thereof, happening next to him. Talk of Quidditch had a tendency to do that to him.
You study his face intently, searching for any hint of his feelings toward her, hoping to find anything that might betray his feelings.
But when you see the way he looks at her—eyes soft, filled with a tenderness you’ve never seen from him before—your stomach churns with a sickening mix of jealousy and heartache.
His eyes meet yours, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I didn’t even see you come in. Glad you’ve met my girl,”he says, the warmth in his voice making your chest tighten.
I didn’t see you. Your stomach lurches at his words.
Clearly not—if you had, you wouldn’t be flaunting another girl right in front of me, you think bitterly.
You glance at Veronica as she nods enthusiastically. “Me too, Matty,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness. “I’m already so excited for the girls’ nights we’re going to have.”
You can’t tell if she’s genuinely that nice or just putting on a show for Mattheo. “Oh yeah. That would be fun,” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. Neither of them notices the unease behind it—they’re too wrapped up in each other, their attention locked in a gaze that makes you feel invisible.
The last thing you want is a girls’ night. Pass the popcorn—oh, and by the way? I want your boyfriend.
No. Absolutely not.
You tear your gaze away, the sight of them together too painful to endure, and instead turn to Enzo. “What the hell?” You mutter, barely managing to keep your voice steady.
“I’m sorry, love, I wanted to tell you before they did.” Enzo whispers, wincing as he gives your hand a quick squeeze. You murmur a soft “It’s okay,” but inside, you’re far from feeling that way.
Desperately, you try to compose yourself, but the effort feels pointless. As your eyes wander, they lock with Theo’s. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable. You muster a soft smile, hoping to mask the heartbreak inside, but he doesn’t return it; he just keeps watching, his gaze heavy with something you can’t quite place.
You manage to stay for half an hour, offering the occasional nod and murmured agreement to feign interest in the conversation. But your mind is elsewhere, detached from the words being exchanged. No one seems to notice your distraction; they’re all too absorbed in their own conversations to catch the distant look in your eyes.
Without realizing it, your gaze keeps drifting back to the couple. Veronica rests her head on Mattheo’s shoulder, and his hand is gently resting on her knee, his thumb brushing softly against her skin. You can’t help but notice how at ease he seems with this physical intimacy—something you’re surprised he’d be so comfortable with.
It took Mattheo ages to grow comfortable with your touch. The first time he came over after a particularly brutal nightmare about his father, he sat hunched over on your bed, eyes hollow as he confessed he kept reliving Christmas break—how his dad had slapped him for something he couldn’t even remember. Something so insignificant. When your hand barely grazed his back, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
It was months before your touch started to soothe him instead of making him flinch.
When Pansy casually asked how Mattheo and Veronica had met, you felt a surge of restless energy. You couldn’t bear to hear that they’d been together for months, falling in love while you remained oblivious, never realizing you never stood a chance. Without thinking, you abruptly stood up, the couch creaking loudly at the force. The sudden noise drew theattention of everyone in the room. All eyes shifted to you, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity as they awaited your next move.
“Um,” you winced as the room’s gaze fixed on you, feeling the heat of their attention. “I’m coming down with a migraine. I’m going to bed early tonight.”
Your friends’ voices fade into the background as they shout their goodnights, the words scarcely reaching your ears. You speed through the common room and down the cold, empty hallway, desperate for the seclusion of your dorm. Just as you’ve made it halfway to your room, a firm grip catches your hand. Startled, you spin around to find Theo standing there, his eyes searching yours with a mix of concern and hesitation.
“Fiore,” he says softly, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet hallway. His eyes follow the tears streaming down your cheeks, and you watch through blurry vision as he takes a tentative step closer. “What’s going on?”
You open your mouth to respond but find yourself unable to form the words. The lump in your throat feels insurmountable. Instead, you just shake your head slightly, your tears continuing to fall one after another.
He releases a quiet sigh and says, “Come here.” Without a second thought, you step closer, encircling his waist with your arms while resting your head against his chest. His arms come up to settle around your shoulders, and he gently rests his head against yours. As you press your face into his chest, sniffling softly, he whispers soothing words in Italian, his voice a comforting murmur.
You must have been standing in the cold corridor for fifteen minutes before the distant murmur of approaching students prompts Theo to gently pull himself from you. He takes your hand, his touch warm against the chill, guiding you away from the freezing corridor.
“It’s just you and Pansy, right?” He asks, using his hand to guide you in front of him to let you go ahead and enter your room first.
“Yeah, but she’ll probably stay with Blaise.” You say softly, the strain in your voice revealing that you’ve been crying. Theo doesn’t say anything; he’s long since lost count of the times he’s told them off for leaving the curtains open or forgetting to cast a silencing spell. Instead, he follows you into your dorm, the door clicking softly behind him.
The walls are lined with polaroids of the group, and Theo’s gaze lingers on the numerous pictures of you and Mattheo. Your dark wood desk is topped with a silver lamp and a few textbooks, its surface cluttered with quills and scattered notes. Mattheo’s jersey is draped over the back of your chair, and Theo recalls all the times seeing you wear it at each game. Your teddy, a well-worn bear that Theo recognizes as the same one you bring every year, sits at the top of your desk.
The room feels markedly warmer than the corridor outside, though it might just be because it’s your room.
“You can sit.” You offer. Theo’s eyes move to where you’re perched on the edge of your bed watching him.
You’ve kicked off your shoes and tossed your robes over your trunk. He swallows, his gaze lingering on you. Despite the tear stains on your cheeks, he finds it hard to look away—you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s always thought so.
It’s rare for him to spend time with you alone. Usually, when you’re together, it’s with the rest of your friends. Over the years, you’ve been paired up in classes a few times, but neither of you has ever gone out of your way to be alone together.
He sits down next to you on the bed, deliberately leaving some space between you. For a while, neither of you speaks. When Theo finally glances at you out of the corner of his eye, he notices you staring at a polaroid of you and Mattheo. It was taken at a party celebrating Slytherin’s win. In the photo, you’re perched on his lap, one arm casually draped around his shoulder, the other holding up a cup of whatever you were drinking. Your smile is bright, full of life, while Mattheo’s is more subdued, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s looking at you—content, almost in awe, as you laugh above him.
He was sure you two were going to get together that night—and he nearly drank himself blackout drunk at the thought.
“Hey,” He murmurs. You hum to show you’re listening, but don’t look away from the picture. “You know I’m here for you. In any way you need me.”
You can’t tear your eyes away from the picture at first, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stare at it. Finally, you let out a sigh and turn to him, “I appreciate that. But how fair would it be for me to vent about your best friend to you?”
It’s the first time he’s ever heard you say anything that hints at your feelings for Mattheo.
“I don’t care about him right now. I care about you.” He says, and you look a tad surprised at his words.
There’s a moment of quiet as you process Theo’s words. He’s always been Mattheo’s best friend, so hearing him dismiss Mattheo like that catches you off guard. You hesitate, not wanting to unload all your feelings onto him, especially since the mere thought of talking about Mattheo and Veronica makes your stomach turn.
“Theo,” you sigh, your voice tinged with vulnerability, on the verge of breaking. He can hear how close you are to tears. “Will you lie with me? If that’s weird, I understand—”
But before you can finish, Theo gently takes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring, leaving no room for doubt. He gives a small nod, silently gesturing for you to lie down, and you follow his lead.
“Where do you want me, fiore?” He asks, his voice soft. You feel a momentary hesitation, your heart stuttering at the tenderness in his tone.
“Um,” you murmur, turning onto your side, feeling the unease settling in your stomach. Not because you feel uncomfortable around Theo, but because this is wildly different for the both of you. “Will you face me?”
Theo doesn’t hesitate. He moves effortlessly, sliding into place beside you. You watch as he slips off his shoes and sets them aside, then settles himself on the bed, positioning his body so he’s facing you. You find yourself holding your breath, acutely aware of how close he is—how you’re sharing the same pillow and could study every detail of his face if you wanted to.
“Why did you follow me?” You ask, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours.
“I got the impression you needed someone.” You don’t say anything to that, just take in his words. It startles you that Theo—someone you’re hardly close with—noticed, instead of Mattheo, who’s seen you at your worst more times than you can count.
“Thank you.” You say, and you cringe inwardly at the way your voice wavers. There’s nothing hiding the sadness in your voice, it’s impossible to mask.
His eyes gently trace your features, a soft concern evident in his expression as he takes in the sight of you, “For?”
“Laying with me. Coming to check on me,” Your voice drops to a whisper and your eyes well up in tears when you think about why you were upset in the first place. “It means a lot.”
Theo lets out a soft hum, his gaze soft as he lifts his hand to gently brush away a tear that slips from your eye. The gentleness of his fingers against your face feels soothing; you’ve never had anyone touch you like this before.
You shift closer to Theo, and for a moment, he tenses, as if unsure of your proximity. The hesitation makes you wonder if this closeness is too much, but then he wraps his arm around you and draws you in, holding you firmly against him. You wonder if it should feel awkward, letting Theo hold you this close when the two of you have never been this close before, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You let your eyes flutter shut, inhaling his cologne—surprisingly more comforting to you than Mattheo’s—and feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt.
As his fingers move gently over your hair, a calming touch, you rest your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat becomes a soothing reminder that you aren’t alone, and soon you find yourself drifting off, wrapped in the quiet of your dorm.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
When you wake up, Theo is gone, and you’re not sure if you’re more disappointed or relieved. Given how you feel, you’re leaning toward the latter. Your head throbs with a sharp, relentless ache, and your puffy eyes serve as a reminder of the tears you shed last night.
You’re nearly done getting ready when Pansy slips into the dorm, her brows knitting in surprise as she takes in the sight of you.
Her gaze lingers on the dark circles under your eyes and the slight tremor in your hands as you fix your tie, “I didn’t think you’d be leaving the dorm today.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” You snap, and Pansy raises an amused brow at the agitation in your voice.
“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood to see them.” She heads to her trunk, her current clothes rumpled and clearly in need of a fresh uniform. You don’t need her to spell it out—you know exactly who she’s talking about.
“I left because I had a migraine.” You grit out and she glances over her shoulder, obviously amused and doubtful at your answer.
“Really? A migraine after seeing those two?” Pansy hums, rummaging through her trunk with deliberate slowness, her eyes flicking to you as if gauging your reaction. “They were all over each other last night. Who’s to say they won’t be again today?”
You stiffen at the mention of Mattheo and his girlfriend, your fingers pausing on your tie. The events of last night rushback—Veronica’s hand on Mattheo, the way he looked at her. You feel a fresh wave of nausea but push it down, not wanting to give Pansy the satisfaction of knowing she was right.
“It doesn’t bother me.” You mutter, trying to sound indifferent, though your voice wavers slightly. You force your hands to finish with your tie, pulling it tighter than necessary.
Pansy glances over at you, a flicker of something like sympathy in her eyes, as she drops the amused smirk, “You know you can tell me, right? About how you feel about him.”
You study Pansy, debating whether to finally say what you’ve kept to yourself for so long. It’s only been hours since you basically admitted it to Theo, and now telling Pansy feels like too much—though you’re sure they’d suspected for a while. But voicing it out loud feels like stepping into territory you’re not ready to face.
“What difference does it make, Pans? He’s got a girlfriend now.” You sigh, the sadness from last night seeping into your words. She abandons her trunk, standing up to fully face you, her expression unreadable.
“If it helps, we were all surprised.” She says, her voice unexpectedly gentle. That’s not normally a word you’d use in the same sentence as her name. “None of us had a clue he was sleeping with anyone more than once.”
Your stomach churns further, “I don’t think that really helps, Pans.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of comfort. “I could make her life a nightmare if you want. Maybe then she’d decide it’s not worth it.”
“No,” you say, wincing as you stare at the wall, feeling the heaviness of the room. “I want him to be happy, and if shemakes him happy, then I need to accept it. Even if it hurts.”
Pansy narrows her eyes, disbelief crossing her face. “Are you joking? You’d make him happy—”
“Pansy,” you cut her off, frustration making your voice sharper. “I don’t need you to fix this. I just need to figure out how to deal with it myself.”
Pansy falls silent, her gaze shifting as she takes in the raw pain on your face, a flicker of guilt passing over her expression. She heads off to change, leaving you on your bed, the weight of her offer hanging in the air. You sit there, lost in thought, waiting for her to finish getting ready. Despite her nights spent with Blaise, you both always made a point to walk to breakfast together.
When Pansy finally emerges, you both make your way to the Great Hall in quiet unison. The hum of conversation and the steady flow of students around you create a backdrop of normalcy.
“What did you do after you left last night?” Pansy asks, her gaze shifting from the bustling corridor to you.
“Had a good cry.” You reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the heaviness you feel.
Pansy’s brow furrows. “Babes, you shouldn’t have been alone.”
“I wasn’t.” You say, almost reluctantly.
“What do you mean?”
“Theo came back to the dorm with me,” you explain, your voice softer now. “He stayed with me, just… holding me, until I fell asleep.”
Pansy’s eyes widen slightly, and she falls quiet for a moment, “He did?”
You let out a soft hum, and Pansy grips at your hand, her touch both firm and reassuring. Her eyes reflect a mix of concern and guilt as she looks at you.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice softening with sincerity. “I should’ve come to check on you instead of leaving it to Theo. I didn’t realize your feelings for Mattheo were this strong. I thought it was a harmless crush, I really didn’t know.”
You shake your head slightly, your gaze dropping to where her fingers clasp yours. “It’s okay,” you murmur, trying to steady your voice. “Theo being there helped more than I thought it would. I’m glad I wasn’t alone.”
Pansy nods, her expression softening. “I wish I’d known,” she says quietly. “I would’ve gone with you immediately. I just thought you needed some space.”
You offer a small, appreciative smile, grateful for her concern. “Thanks, Pansy. It means a lot.”
Pansy pulls you into a warm hug, and despite the heaviness in your chest, you can’t help but chuckle at the unexpected show of affection. When she finally lets go, she takes your hand and leads you toward the Great Hall.
As you make your way to the Slytherin table, your spirits, momentarily lifted by Pansy’s support, are quickly deflated when you see who’s occupying your usual spot.
A heavy weight settles in your stomach as you spot Veronica nestled against Mattheo’s side, her head tilted as she whispers something into his ear. His laughter, genuine and warm, makes your appetite vanish. You decide that you’re not very hungry anymore.
You swallow hard, struggling to keep your emotions in check. Pansy gives your hand a comforting squeeze and tilts her head toward an empty seat beside Theo. Usually, Theo would be next to his best friend with you on the other side sandwiching Mattheo, but today he’s positioned next to Draco across from where he normally would be. You hesitate, not wanting to assume he saved the spot for you, but then Theo turns and offers you a gentle smile—a smile you’ve never seen him give anyone else. As you stand there, he reaches out with that soft smile, his hand extended to gently guide you into the seat beside him.
You settle into the seat beside Theo, and with a resigned sigh, you reach for some food to add to your plate. Even though your appetite is all but gone, you know it’s important to eat. That and you know Pansy would shove it down your throat if you didn’t.
Theo leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur as he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up,” he says quietly. “I had something I needed to take care of.”
“That’s alright,” You murmur, sending him a quick, soft smile. “Were you able to get any sleep last night?”
Theo hesitates, unsure whether to tell you that it was the best sleep he’s had in a while or simply agree. He settles for a nod, “Uh yeah. I slept pretty well. Did you?”
“As well as I could,” You shrug, “But it was nice having you there.” You send him a shy smile, your gaze dipping back down to the tea you’re stirring, and he struggles to resist the urge to offer to stay the night with you again.
“I meant what I said. I’m here for you in any way that you need me.” You turn towards him, your expression softening as you take in the genuine look on his face. Your lips part, but you can’t manage to get anything past them. The way he’s looking at you makes you nervous.
“Oi! What are you two whispering about?” Theo’s head snaps toward Draco, who is watching you both with a look of clear distaste at the way you were leaning into each other, gazing at one another so intently.
“Nothing.” Theo snaps out, and Draco raises an eyebrow at the sharpness in his tone. A sly grin begins to form on Draco’s face as he opens his mouth to speak, but Theo interrupts with a low murmur that you can’t quite make out. Draco doesn’t say anything, but faces his breakfast with a disgruntled look on his face.
Theo engages in a lively conversation with Enzo and Draco, leaving you content to eat in quiet. However, it’s not long before Veronica’s giggles start to cut through the silence, growing louder with each passing moment. When you finally look up, your heart sinks. Mattheo’s arm is wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as he murmurs something into her ear. She glances up at him, still laughing, and Mattheo leans in, pressing a kiss to her lips.
Overwhelmed, you instinctively reach for Theo’s thigh, your hand gripping it tightly as you try to steady yourself. Theo looks at you, startled by your sudden reaction, but you’re not meeting his gaze. Instead, he follows your line of sight to where Mattheo and Veronica are entwined, lost in their own world.
He drops his fork with a sigh, his hand immediately reaching out to grasp yours with a firm, reassuring grip. His touch is warm as he gently pulls your focus from the scene before you. Theo’s gaze lingers on the tear-brimmed edges of your eyes, his expression concerned. He glances at your friends, still lost in their animated conversation, and feels a pang of relief that they’re oblivious to the devastation written across your face.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, rising from his seat while maintaining a firm hold on your hand. With a quick, reassuring glance, he leans down to grab your bag. “I’ll walk you to class a bit early.”
Without a word, you follow him, casting a glance back at Pansy. You silently mouth ‘class’ to her as she watches you with curiosity from over your shoulder. If your friends notice the way Theo’s hand is intertwined with yours, they make no mention of it.
The moment you’re out in the hall, it feels like you can finally breathe again. A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you cling tightly to Theo’s hand as you walk, finding some comfort in the feel of him. You appreciate how he doesn’t push you to talk or ask any questions, just quietly staying by your side. There’s a relief in knowing he’s there if you need him, without the pressure to say anything.
After a couple of minutes of walking, you squeeze his hand and Theo glances over at you, “I’m not sure how I’m going to do this.”
He squeezes your hand back, “What do you mean?”
“Seeing them together,” You mumble. “It fucking sucks.”
“I’m sorry, fiore.” He speaks softly, wishing he had the right words to offer, some way to tell you how to get over someone. But the truth is, he’s still trying to figure it out himself.
“Will you help me get over him?” Theo’s steps falter slightly at your question, his heart aching at the helplessness in your voice. He swallows, the meaning of your words sinking in. You don’t seem to realize what it sounds like you’re asking him for.
He glances at you, unease settling in his stomach, “How exactly?” He briefly considers the fact that whatever you ask of him could make him fall for you more. But as long as it meant you were happy.
You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the floor as you search for the right words. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… be there, I guess. Help me forget about him. Distract me.”
Theo nods slowly, his mind racing. He wants to say something, to offer more than just his presence, but he knows that pushing too hard might make things worse. Instead, he gently squeezes your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a comforting rhythm.
“I can do that,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the nerves inside him. “I’m here for whatever you need.”
You offer him a small, grateful smile, and he can see the hint of sadness still lingering in your eyes. It breaks his heart, but he pushes those feelings aside. Right now, what matters is helping you heal, even if it means hiding his own growing feelings for you.
As you continue walking, Theo keeps you close, his hand never leaving yours. And though he doesn’t say it out loud, he silently vows to do whatever it takes to make you smile again, even if it means keeping his own heartache hidden in the process.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
By the time you reach your dorm, exhaustion weighs heavily on you. You’ve spent the entire day with your head down, avoiding any sight of Mattheo and Veronica. The silence between you and Mattheo feels foreign; it’s the first time you’ve gone a whole day without speaking to him, and you’re unsure if he even noticed your absence.
Unfortunately, you share several classes with both Mattheo and, evidently, Veronica. The sound of her laugh has become something you never want to hear again.
You kick off your shoes, fatigue weighing heavily on your limbs as you move towards your bed. As you pass your desk, something catches your eye—a bundle of red flowers sitting on top of your books. You pause, your curiosity piqued, and approach the desk. With a gentle touch, you lift the bundle, revealing vibrant red peonies. Their rich color stands out against the soft light filtering through the window, and their subtle, sweet fragrance fills the air.
Your eyes catch a note nestled among the flowers. You bite your lip to hide a smile as you read his messy handwriting: your name followed by a simple heart.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
Last night had been brutal. Sleep barely touched you; your mind was flooded with images of Mattheo and Veronica, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The thought of them together was unbearable—it made your head throb and your stomach churn. You hated it. Hated how it made you feel. But no matter how tightly you shut your eyes, your thoughts wouldn’t quiet. So you gave up on rest entirely, dragging yourself out of bed before the sun had even risen, hoping that a book might be enough to distract you from the images popping up in your head.
It was quiet in the common room—so quiet, you weren’t sure it would be enough to drown out the rancid thoughts circling your head. But you sat down anyway, curled up beside the fire with a blanket draped around your shoulders.
Reading ended up helping, so much so that you didn’t even hear anyone come in. You nearly jumped out of your skin when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught someone sitting in the chair beside you.
“You scared me.” You mutter, shooting him a look as he keeps his eyes fixed on the fire in front of him.
“Didn’t mean to,” Mattheo mumbles, finally glancing over at you. “What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” you say with a shrug, praying he won’t ask why. “I’m guessing it’s the same for you?”
He sighs, and you know the answer right away, “The usual.”
The words rise in your throat, begging to ask why he didn’t come to you—but you swallow them down, because deep down, you already know the answer. That was someone else’s job now.
So instead, you stay quiet—he’s never been one to talk after a nightmare. He prefers silence, sitting with it, letting it settle while he works through whatever’s clawing at him.
“I haven’t seen much of you.” You murmur after a good ten minutes of silence. It’s not easy to focus on reading when the person you’ve missed so achingly is sitting right in front of you. It was hard not to say anything—you’d barely made it through a page of your book, too distracted by stealing glances at him. You always thought he looked his most beautiful like this—hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep. It was a kind of vulnerability only you were ever allowed to see.
He sighs, leaning back in the chair as his hand threads through his hair. “Been busy. You know how it is.” The smirk that tugs at his lips makes your stomach twist. You don’t know how it is—not really. You’ve been too busy waiting around for him to find out.
“Oh,” you choke out. “Well, maybe this weekend we could do something? It feels like it’s been ages since we’ve done anything.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, and your spirits lift for a second. “I’ll have to check in with Veronica first, though.”
“Check in?” You repeat, a frown tugging at your brow.
“I don’t want her thinking I’m neglecting our relationship, you know?” He explains, and you swallow down the scoff that threatens to leave your lips. Like you’re doing with ours?
“Sure, I understand.” You say, but you really don’t. But you have no right to voice that. He’s in a relationship now, and you have to learn to respect that.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
It’s well past midnight when a knock echoes at your door. You sigh, adjusting your shorts as you reluctantly crawl off your bed, leaving your notes sprawled across the covers. As you swing the door open, you find Theo standing there, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet yours. A hesitant smile plays on his lips, as if he’s unsure whether he’s welcome at this late hour.
“Hi.” You greet him with a mix of confusion and warmth, offering a sweet smile. You pull the door open wider, and Theo’s gaze briefly flickers over your tiny sleep shorts and oversized shirt before he meets your eyes again.
“Pansy’s at our dorm.” He says, his voice soft.
You let out a quiet laugh, “I know that.”
He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just thought... maybe you wouldn’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Oh,” you say, surprised, your lips parting as you glance over your shoulder into your room. Theo’s heart races, a wave of panic surging through him as he mentally scolds himself for not holding back. Offering to stay the night with you felt impulsive, but the moment he saw Pansy enter his dorm, his thoughts had gone straight to you.
“Shit,” Theo shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I just—when I saw Pansy, I couldn’t help but think you might need someone tonight. But if you’d rather be alone, I can go.”
After you asked Theo to help you get over Mattheo, you wondered if it had been too much to ask of him. But to your surprise, you’ve spent nearly every day of the past three weeks with Theo. You knew he had his own worries—between school, Quidditch, and the pressure from his father. But the morning after you asked for his help, he was there.
You never expected him to put so much effort into helping you move on from Mattheo, but you couldn’t be more grateful.
You hadn’t seen much of Mattheo since that early morning you’d run into him in the common room a couple of weeks ago. He’d been wrapped up with Veronica—you’d really only caught glimpses of them around the castle now and then, and the boys hadn’t stopped grumbling about their mate being stolen. It bothered you more than you cared to admit. You missed your best friend, even when you were agitated with him. Still, you were doing your best to respect his relationship, which meant spending more time with the group—minus the new couple. As it turned out, the distraction was a welcome one.
“No,” you quickly respond, a smile spreading across your face as you reach out and grasp his hand, gently tugging him inside. “I’m glad you came.”
Theo visibly relaxes at your touch, allowing you to gently pull him into the room. As the door clicks shut behind him, sealing out the quiet corridor, his initial hesitation melts away. He takes in the familiar surroundings of your room, which, despite being a bit messier than usual, feels even more comforting in the warm, dim light with you.
He swallows his disappointment as you release his hand to clear your bed of scattered notes. Standing there awkwardly, he tries to keep his gaze focused, making an effort not to let his eyes drift down your legs as you lean over to pick up the last piece of parchment.
After you place everything neatly on your desk, you turn to face him, leaning casually against the edge with a soft smile. “Are you okay with sharing my bed again?” you ask, your voice light but sincere. “Or if you’d prefer, I can sleep in Pansy’s bed so you’ll have more room.”
Theo bites his tongue, fighting to keep his voice steady and avoid sounding overeager. He doesn’t want more room; what he wants is to wake up with you pressed close against him, just as he did weeks ago. This time, though, he’s determined to stay and enjoy the feeling of you in his arms.
He clears his throat, “Your bed is fine.”
“I was actually about to head to bed before you knocked, but I can stay up if you wanted to do something.” You offer, your voice gentle and inviting.
Theo shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “Thanks, but I’m pretty wiped out from practice today.” He admits, and you can hear the exhaustion seeping through his words.
“You should’ve gone to bed at your dorm, you would’ve been asleep sooner.” You say with a slight frown as you notice just how tired he looks from the day.
“No,” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing you were here alone.”
If your heart could have melted, it would have done so right then.
Theo’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer before he glances away, almost as if he’s embarrassed by his own admission. You press your lips together, trying to hide the giddy smile threatening to break through. The idea that he cared that much for you made your insides flutter, warmth spreading through your chest.
Pushing away from the desk, you walk over to your bed and pull back the covers. Theo watches as you crawl in, adjusting the pillows before looking back at him. The unspoken question hangs in the air—are you going to join me?
He hesitates, slowly dropping his bag at the foot of your bed before moving closer to the edge. He’s slept in a bed with a girl before, but this feels wildly different. You make him nervous, and he has no idea how to hide it when he’s this close to you.
You settle into the covers, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight as you shift, and watch as Theo does the same, kicking off his shoes and slipping under the covers beside you.
Once the lights are off, silence settles between you, not at all uncomfortable. The only sound in the room is the soft rustling of sheets as Theo shifts beside you. You lie on your side, trying to make out his form in the darkness as your eyes slowly adjust. You can tell he’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the past couple of weeks.” You say softly, and Theo turns his head to look at you.
“Yeah?”
You hum, reaching out your fingers to brush against his hand, and he takes it without hesitation, his grip warm and reassuring, “Yeah.”
It’s become a habit in the last couple of weeks—intertwining his fingers with yours. He would grab your hand every time he noticed your discomfort around Mattheo and Veronica. And at some point, you just started reaching for his hand yourself. You liked the warmth of his palm against yours and the way he’d brush his thumb over the back of your hand.
“You know I don’t mind, right? Spending all this time with you has been nice. We never really hung out much, just us two.” He says softly.
You nod, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Yeah, I know. It’s been nice for me too,” you admit, your eyes meeting his in the dark. You both fall into silence, and it doesn’t take long before you drift off to sleep, your hand still clasped in his.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
Panic hits as you suddenly realize the time—you’re running late. By now, you should already be at breakfast.
“Theo,” you whisper urgently, trying to shift out of his hold. The sheets are tangled around your legs, your back pressed firmly against his chest. His arms are locked around your waist, holding you close, and he’s not loosening his grip. His body is warm against yours, and even as you try to move, his grip tightens slightly, like he’s not ready to let go just yet. “Theo.”
“Fiore,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, and you freeze at the sound of that deeper, morning rasp. “Quit moving.”His grip tightens just enough to keep you still, his breath warm against the back of your neck.
“We have to get up,” you huff, trying to slip out of his arms, but Theo just pulls you back against him, his hold firm. “We’re late.”
“We’ll just skip.” He mutters, his voice still low and groggy. The idea is tempting—staying wrapped in his warmth instead of braving the cold corridors—but you sigh inwardly, knowing better.
You’d grown used to Theo’s small gestures of affection over the past few weeks, and you’d been just as affectionate in return. But waking up tangled in his arms like this felt different, more intimate. You were certain that once Theo fully woke up, he’d be a little sheepish about how closely he was holding you now.
“We really can’t,” you sigh, trying once more. “We need to get going—” Theo grumbles in response, finally loosening his grip and releasing you. A triumphant smile tugs at your lips as you slip out of bed, quickly heading to get ready. You racethrough brushing your teeth and pull on your uniform, skipping any attempt at fixing your hair in the rush. By the time you step out of the bathroom, Theo is standing by the bed, just finishing the last button on his shirt, looking just as disheveled as you feel.
You hurry Theo out of your room as he finishes brushing his teeth, and he complies, adjusting his tie as you both sprint toward the Great Hall. Just before joining the bustling breakfast crowd, you grab Theo by the arm, pausing to smooth down his disheveled hair.
“Is it a mess?” He asks, watching you closely as you stand on your toes to thread your fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it.
“Just a bit,” you smile, stepping back on your heels and giving his hair a final nod of approval. “How’s mine?”
“Pretty,” Theo responds immediately, his gaze lingering. “I’ve never seen your hair like this before.”
You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your smile at his compliment. You had let your hair fall naturally, and his reaction makes you feel unexpectedly warm.
You mumble a shy “thank you” before leading the way into the Great Hall, Theo trailing close behind. His cheeks are still tinged pink from the way your fingers had grazed through his hair, and he’s quietly grateful you haven’t seemed to notice. However, his relief is short-lived when he catches Draco’s eye, who immediately notices the pink tint and raises an eyebrow in amused surprise.
As you make your way to the table, Draco leans back in his seat with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds gracing us with their presence.”
“Fuck off.” Theo grumbles under his breath as he lets you slide into your new seat before settling in beside you. Ever since your usual spot had been taken, you’d claimed the one next to Theo, and not just in the Great Hall. You found yourself gravitating toward him in class, the common room—anywhere you could. It had become a newly formed habit, one that neither of you seemed keen on breaking.
“I should’ve figured that’s where you disappeared to last night,” Enzo says with a knowing smirk. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately, haven’t you?”
You really had. Theo had taken to meeting you outside your last class of the day, content to walk around the castle or by the lake, just so you could avoid witnessing Mattheo and Veronica together. You had learned he was the perfect study partner—far more patient than Mattheo, who would get restless after twenty minutes and start pleading for a break. He seemed to remember every little detail you shared, from how you took your tea to the smallest quirks about yourself.
He’d been so attentive to you that you overheard some girls in the year below talking about how Theo Nott was no longer single.
Theo gives him a flat, unimpressed glare, clearly not in the mood for Enzo’s comments, “Yet again, fuck off.”
“Well, have you two got anything to tell us?” Blaise prodded, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was teasing, sure—but there was a hint of hope beneath it, a quiet wish that the two of you would finally admit to being together. Theo was the happiest Blaise had ever seen him, and he knew it had everything to do with you. It always did.
Theo looks up from serving himself breakfast, shooting Blaise a sharp, warning glance. He could handle the teasing from the boys himself, but he didn’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, especially if it made you uncomfortable.
“No.” Theo replies flatly, his gaze flicking to you. You return it with an amused, yet sympathetic smile. Unconsciously, a soft, faint smile tugs at his lips, a detail the boys are quick to notice.
“Are you sure? Because—” Blaise starts but is quickly interrupted.
“I think you two would be perfect together,” Veronica cuts in, her voice dripping with an overly sweet tone as she flashes a saccharine smile. “Don’t you think so, Matty?” she adds, glancing over at Mattheo with a raised eyebrow.
Your eyes meet Mattheo’s for a fleeting moment, and he holds your gaze. You barely registered them, so absorbed in the boys’ teasing of you and Theo. And honestly, you’re still unsettled by what he said the other day—his comment about not wanting to neglect his relationship with Veronica. What about your friendship? Was that something that was okay to neglect?
Clearly, as much as you tried to shake it, there was still some bitterness there.
For just a moment, there’s something unreadable in his gaze—something that makes your heart falter—but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his gaze shifting between you and Theo while Veronica cozies up to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You two would be.”
A knot tightens in your stomach, and your appetite evaporates. The lightness you’d felt just moments before vanishes, replaced by a heavy weight. Even though you knew Mattheo didn’t have feelings for you, hearing him so openly agree with the idea of you with Theo stings more than you expected.
As long as you’d known him, Mattheo had never been in a serious relationship, let alone had a girlfriend. Now that he was with Veronica, it was painfully clear that you were never truly an option for him. If you had been, he would have made a move. You had dropped hints for years, and his playful flirting had always kept your hopes alive.
But maybe that’s all your relationship was ever meant to be—a friendship with a hint of flirtation. If that’s the case, you needed to move on. Fixating on a guy who now had a girlfriend was a losing battle. If you weren’t careful, you might risk losing the friendship you valued so much.
You’re so caught up in your thoughts, pushing the food around on your plate, that you don’t even hear the chatter of your friends going on around you. It isn’t until Enzo tosses a grape at you that you glance up, “Are you coming tomorrow?”
You immediately know he’s referring to the Quidditch match. You’d missed the last game, which had surprised everyone, but you weren’t in the right head space to watch Veronica cheer for Mattheo.
You nod. “I planned on it.”
“Good,” Pansy interjects matter-of-factly. “I missed having you there.” You offer her a smile, but it falters when you see Veronica nudge Mattheo. He clears his throat and turns to you, his expression unreadable.
“Speaking of the game,” Mattheo starts, his voice slicing through the breakfast chatter. “I need my jersey back.”
Your brows knit together in confusion, and it takes you a moment to find your voice, “I don’t understand—”
“My jersey,” Mattheo repeats, his gaze steady as he watches you. “I need it for tomorrow.”
“Did something happen to yours?” You ask, caught off guard. You’d always kept one of his jerseys while he kept the other. It had become a sort of tradition between you.
Mattheo hesitates momentarily, a flicker of something like regret crossing his features. “No, it’s just... I need it back now.”
“Oh.” You say softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. Veronica’s eyes dart between the two of you, her brow knitting in irritation as she takes in the way Mattheo’s gaze lingers on you.
Theo’s eyes watch you with careful intensity. And when he catches the flash of hurt in your expression, he reaches out and intertwines his fingers with yours beneath the table, his touch reminding you that he’s there if you need him. You squeeze his hand back immediately.
“I’m wearing it,” Veronica interjects, her tone bordering on something nasty. “I’m his girlfriend. It would be a bit strange if you kept wearing it.”
Your gaze flickers to hers, and a familiar twist of dislike coils in your stomach. You hadn’t been her biggest fan when you first met, but you’d tried to make an effort. That morning, after seeing Mattheo in the common room, you’d even asked Veronica if she wanted to hang out. You told yourself it was a healthy step—getting to know her might help you understand what Mattheo saw in her. Maybe if you saw why he’d fallen for her, it would be easier to let go. The feelings you had for Mattheo? Those were going to be long gone soon.
But she’d barely spared you a glance, tossing a dismissive look over her shoulder before slamming her book shut and rising to face you, “When I said we’d have a girls’ night, I didn’t actually mean it.”
Your lips parted, confusion knitting your brows. “It doesn’t have to be a girls’ night,” you offered, trying to keep your tone light. “I just thought maybe we could grab lunch—just the two of us, or even with Mattheo, if that’s more comfort—”
“I don’t have time,” she cut in sharply, lifting her books in emphasis. “Besides, tonight’s date night for Matty and me. It’d be weird if you tagged along.”
You bit back the retort—“I didn’t say tonight”—deciding her tone said enough. You’d tried, but her attitude had made things crystal clear. You didn’t like her—and nothing was changing that.
Your friends exchange glances, their confusion palpable as they watch Mattheo allow Veronica to speak to you with such disdain. They’ve seen him start fights over someone supposedly speaking badly of you, so this new passivity is surprising. Enzo’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he mouths a quick ‘what the hell’ to Draco, whose puzzled expression mirrors his own.
Everyone, except Mattheo it seems, has noticed that Veronica has gone from bright and friendly to curt and possessive over the past few weeks. At first, everyone agreed she seemed sweet—confused about how she ended up with Mattheo, but sweet nonetheless. But the longer the relationship went on, the more Veronica’s personality seemed to shift. It became clear she wasn’t a fan of them, especially not you.
When you remain silent, Veronica sighs impatiently, “Did you hear me—”
“Yeah, I get it,” you snap, your frustration evident. You turn your gaze back to Mattheo. “I’ll give it to you later.”
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
You spent all your classes obsessing over returning Mattheo’s jersey, and no matter how hard you tried, it was getting under your skin. It wasn’t just any jersey—it was the one Mattheo had given you, the one you’d worn countless times. His new relationship with Veronica had stung, but this felt even worse. Maybe it was because taking back the jersey felt like a tangible sign that Mattheo was serious about Veronica, and it drove home the reality of how much things had changed.
Logically, you understood why it was reasonable. Having another girl wear your boyfriend’s jersey would be uncomfortable, and if the roles were reversed, you’d feel the same way. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. You found Veronica irritating, and the thought of giving up something that meant so much to you—both the jersey and Mattheo—was unbearable.
By the time you made it to your dorm, you were in a foul mood. The plan had been simple: stay holed up all day and hope that, by tomorrow, you’d be completely over Mattheo Riddle.
You’d barely been lounging on your bed for ten minutes when the door burst open. “Get ready, we’re heading down to the Black Lake,” Pansy announced the moment she stepped inside. You glanced up to see her toss her bag onto the bed before rifling through her clothes like she hadn’t just disrupted your entire plan for the day.
“Sorry, this is what I’m doing for the rest of the day.” Pansy looks up and quirks an eyebrow at you—an unmistakable This? Really? written all over her face
“It’s not. I told the boys you were coming.”
“Why?” You ask, annoyance flickering through your veins.
“Because you’ve been in a mood since breakfast and you need a distraction,” she says, tossing a black bikini onto her bed before heading over to your side of the room to dig through your wardrobe. “Besides, it’s nice out, and I need a tan.”
“A mood? Did you not hear him? He wants his jersey back!” You snap, sitting up in bed and flinging your arm toward the garment draped over the back of your chair.
“I know, babe,” Pansy says with a sigh. “But what’s the point in arguing? It’s not going to change anything. His girlfriend already doesn’t like you, and if you push it, you’ll end up seeing him even less.”
She barely spares you a glance as she goes through your clothes, and your stomach sinks. You’ve hardly seen Mattheo as it is—but the thought of not speaking him at all? That’s the last thing you want.
It’s not long before you’re spreading out your towel and sinking down beside Pansy. She’s already reclined, sunglasses balanced on the bridge of her nose, a satisfied sigh slipping past her lips as the sun warms her skin.
“I needed this.” Pansy hums, and you glance over at her.
“I think it’d be a lot more relaxing if they weren’t here.” You mutter, your gaze flicking to where Mattheo sits behind Veronica, obediently rubbing sunscreen on her back as she directs him like a puppet.
Pansy cracks one eye open, follows your line of sight, and groans. “They weren’t supposed to be. Mattheo must’ve overheard the guys talking about it.”
Your jaw tightens as you watch him finish with her shoulders, leaning forward to press a kiss to her neck. She lets out a high-pitched squeal of his name, and suddenly, you regret not fighting harder to stay curled up in your dorm.
“Would you just relax?” Pansy murmurs, sliding her sunglasses down to eye you properly. She gives your t-shirt a light tug, then pinches at the hem of your shorts. “Take these off—you look like you’re melting.”
Something sharp about how it must be your anger, is on the tip of your tongue. But Pansy adjusts her sunglasses and rolls onto her stomach, clearly signaling the conversation is over.
You sigh, glancing over at the boys seated a little ways from Mattheo and Veronica. It’s obvious from their expressions that they’re talking about them. A part of you bristles instinctively, ready to defend Mattheo—but you shove it down before it can surface.
Theo’s eyes are locked on Mattheo, anger simmering just beneath the surface as he watches him drape himself over Veronica—right in front of you. It’s all Theo’s been able to think about these past few weeks: keeping you distracted, keeping your eyes on him. Because if you’re looking at him, maybe you won’t notice just how completely enamored Mattheo is with a girl that isn’t you.
He doesn’t get it—how Mattheo could have you as an option and yet choose someone else. It drives him mad, keeps him up at night. Because if he were in Mattheo’s position, there wouldn’t be a choice to make. It would be you. Always.
He’s so focused on his thoughts that he barely registers Enzo nudging him.
“Huh?” He mutters, distracted, but his words catch in his throat the moment he follows Enzo’s subtle nod toward you. Wrapped in a cherry-red bikini, shoving your denim shorts down your thighs, completely unaware of the way the sight knocks the breath out of him.
His irritation simmers into something else entirely—something heavier, something that sparks low in his stomach.
A low whistle sounds beside him, and Theo’s head snaps toward Draco, who’s shamelessly smirking in your direction. “Salazar, I love the view on days like this,” he drawls.
Irritation flares hot in his chest, and without thinking, Theo snaps, “Shut the fuck up,” before pushing to his feet and heading straight for you.
He doesn’t have much of a plan when he gets to you—just knows he’d rather not sit there while the guys keep eyeing you like that.
“Fiore.” He greets, and you blink up at him through your sunglasses, taking a second to admire him. Exposed skin and defined biceps completely short-circuit your brain, and it takes a moment to catch up. Pansy shoots you a look at how long it takes you to answer him.
“Theo,” you hum, and his lips twitch into a smile. Pansy’s eyes flick between the two of you before she pushes herself up, calling over her shoulder that she’s going to say hi to Blaise. You watch as she saunters over, drops to her knees beside him, and leans down to press a kiss to his lips. Blaise, lying back without a care in the world, welcomes it, while Draco and Enzo groan dramatically, muttering that the two of them need a room.
You giggle quietly to yourself, amused by your friends, as Theo settles onto the towel Pansy abandoned. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, gazes cast toward the Black Lake, letting the sun warm your skin while birdsong fills the space between you. With Theo beside you, the tension in your chest begins to ease. You’re just about to sink back into the towel when another one of Veronica’s shrill calls of Mattheo’s name cuts through the peace, grating in your ears.
You let out a soft sigh, drawing Theo’s attention. He glances over at you, then follows your gaze to where Mattheo sits behind Veronica, still murmuring something in her ear as she leans back against him.
“Do you want to swim?” Theo asks, then immediately winces at how blunt it sounds. He wishes his brain didn’t short-circuit every time you were near—that he could string together a sentence without sounding like he’s forgotten how to speak. Around you, he feels like a third year all over again. There’s a flash of relief when your eyes finally shift to him.
You glance toward the lake, hesitation written all over your face. “It looks freezing,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual. You’re not about to admit you suck at swimming—it’s easier to pretend that it’s just too cold.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “It won’t be that bad.”
Still unsure, you give him a shrug, and Theo pushes himself up, holding out a hand for you to take.
“That water’s gonna be freezing!” Blaise calls after you, and you shoot Theo a look that clearly says told you so.
Threading your fingers through Theo’s feels almost jarring—jolting in a way that catches you off guard. It’s a little unnerving, knowing all your friends are watching as you walk hand in hand, though it’s not like they haven’t already noticed how inseparable you and Theo have become. Still, there’s a flicker of satisfaction when, out of the corner of your eye, you catch Mattheo turning to watch the two of you walk toward the water. For once, his eyes aren’t on Veronica—they’re on you.
You stop a few feet from the edge, eyeing the water warily before taking a slow step back, a sweet smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at him.
“You know what, I’ll gladly watch you swim by yourself.”
Theo casts a look of disbelief your way, “You walked all the way down here with me just to turn me down?”
You shrug, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “I think you’ll survive on your own.”
“No, I really don’t think I will.” His voice is playful, but there’s a glint in his eye as he steps into the water, holding out a hand to you.
You wrinkle your nose and shake your head. “Get Enzo to come out there with you.” You turn, ready to call for Enzo, but you don’t get the chance.
Theo wraps an arm around your waist, the other slipping behind your knees as he effortlessly lifts you off the ground.
You let out a startled shriek, arms instinctively flying around his shoulders. “Theo!” you gasp, breathless with surprise and laughter.
If your friends hadn’t been paying attention before, they definitely were now. A few whistles and teasing cheers ring out from the group, but you can’t tell who they’re from. You’re too focused on Theo, clinging to him with a mix of panic and laughter.
“If you drop me…” You warn, tightening your grip around his shoulders as he wades deeper into the water.
“I’m not going to drop you.” He says with a low chuckle—and just as the words leave his mouth, the cool water brushes your back, pulling a startled squeak from your lips.
“I’m serious! I barely know how to swim. No one ever taught me, and I cried so much every time my parents dropped me off at swim lessons that they just gave up.” You confess quietly, eyes flicking nervously to the water lapping around Theo’s knees before finally meeting his gaze.
To your surprise, he doesn’t tease. Instead, he chuckles softly, shaking his head as he adjusts his grip, gently shifting you until you can wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms loop securely around his neck, and he gives you that soft, familiar smile. The one he saves only for you. It was quickly becoming one of your favorite things.
“I’ll just keep holding you then. How’s that sound?” You nod, eyes drifting over his sun-kissed skin and tousled waves. He looked beautiful like this, devastatingly so.
“As long as you don’t drop me, I’m okay with that.” You murmur softly, and Theo’s smile shifts—gentler now, quieter. His eyes flick down to your lips, so quickly you almost convince yourself you imagined it.
Because there’s no way Theo Nott would be thinking about kissing you.
That just wasn’t possible.
You watch him closely, heart ticking faster as his eyes slowly trace your face. Goosebumps rise along your skin when his hand glides down your side, over your hip, then settles firmly on your thigh.
“Theo.”
“Hm?”
“What are you doing?”
He glances at you, eyes glinting with something unreadable.
“Adjusting my grip,” he says casually. “Wouldn’t want to drop you.”
It’s a bullshit excuse. He didn’t need to adjust his grip—he was holding you just fine. And maybe it was wrong, but he wanted a reason to let his hand skim over your skin, to feel what it would be like to touch you the way he would if you were his.
You don’t seem to care though.
You hum in understanding, and without thinking, your fingers drift up to toy with the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Theo watches you closely, eyes tracing every detail of your face—committing it to memory, unsure when he’ll get to have you this close again.
“I was wondering—”
“Mattheo!” The shout cuts through the air, and Theo flinches at the sound of Veronica’s voice, wincing as a splash of cold water hits his back. Instinctively, he pulls you closer, turning his body to shield you from the spray.
“Fuck, Mattheo,” you grumble, shooting an irritated look his way. “That’s freezing.” It’s not that cold, but you’re annoyed. He’s your best friend, he knows all about your failed attempts at learning to swim and how much you really, really hate having water splashed on you.
“Sorry,” he says with a shrug, though he doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. His eyes flick briefly to Theo, then drop, as if he can see right through the murky water to where Theo’s hand is gripping your thigh.
“You’ve got Theo to keep you warm,” he says, nodding toward him. But his eyes stay locked on yours. There’s a sharp edge to his voice, one Theo doesn’t miss. It’s subtle, but it’s there, like the sight of you in Theo’s arms is bothering him more than he wants to admit.
Theo feels the subtle shift in your body—the way you tense slightly in his arms.
Veronica calls his name, and after a brief hesitation, Mattheo finally tears his gaze away from you and swims toward her. But your mood has already soured, and all you want now is to retreat to your towel and dry off.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
You barely slept, spending most of the night replaying every possible scenario of how returning Mattheo’s jersey might go. Your mind wouldn’t settle, not after watching him and Veronica at the lake, circling each other in the water, sharing quiet conversations. Every so often, if you were lucky, you caught a glimpse of Mattheo pressing his lips to hers.
You were grateful for your sunglasses, hiding the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was jealousy or frustration—or a painful mix of both.
Whatever it was, it sucked.
By the time you got back to your dorm after a day full of classes, you were wound so tight you feared you might snap.
You dreaded going to the game. The thought of returning the jersey was uncomfortable, and the idea of seeing Mattheo with Veronica made it even harder to face.
What you hoped for most was a moment alone with him, to talk without Veronica hovering nearby. But after yesterday, you knew the odds of that were slim. Watching her draped all over Mattheo at the lake had been enough proof. If today was anything like that, you wouldn’t get a second alone with him.
You considered skipping the match entirely. However, you and Pansy had made plans to sit together, and you’d also promised Mattheo you’d return his jersey. As much as you wanted to avoid the situation, you knew you had to go.
You were so irritated as you snatched Mattheo’s jersey off the back of your chair that you hadn’t even noticed the red peonies and green jersey sitting on your bed at first. It wasn’t until you tossed your bag aside and went to fix your hair that the unexpected sight caught your eye.
Your eyes landed on the familiar green jersey, the back facing up so you could clearly see ‘Nott’ stitched in bold, unmistakable letters. A smile tugged at your lips, your earlier frustration fading as you reached for the flowers, their soft petals brushing against your fingers. Carefully, you lifted them, already picturing them in a vase on your desk.
There’s a card tucked between the blooms, and you smile at Theo’s handwriting: Fiore—wear this for me tonight?
Suddenly, the idea of going to the match didn’t seem so miserable anymore.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
“Finally!” Veronica calls out the moment she spots you, her voice laced with impatience. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up in time.” She stands outside the boys’ locker room, arms crossed like she’s been waiting for ages.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I told Mattheo I would be here.”
“I know,” She says, her tone short, before sticking out her hand expectantly. “I can take that.”
You hesitate, wanting to wait and give it to Mattheo yourself, but you know she’ll be the one wearing the jersey tonight. It feels pointless to hold onto it any longer. With a reluctant sigh, you hand it over, and Veronica’s lips curl into a triumphant smile as she takes it from you.
“Thanks.” She chirps, instantly brighter now that she’s got what she wanted. You watch as she slips the jersey on, and a slight bitterness creeps into your chest at the sight of it on her. She finishes adjusting the jersey and looks up, sending you a smug smirk that makes your stomach twist.
It’s incredibly frustrating to watch her once-sweet attitude crack and crumble right in front of you—while Mattheo remains completely oblivious. You don’t understand it. Besides being his friend, which lately hasn’t meant much, there’s no reason for her to dislike you. Yet she does, and you can’t figure out why.
Sure, you were close with Mattheo, but if the jersey was any indication, she had no real reason to worry.
You were nothing but a friend to Mattheo, even though you desperately wished that wasn’t the case.
She eyes the jersey you’re wearing, quirking an eyebrow as if she’s about to say something snide. You brace yourself, waiting for the comment, but then her face lights up as her attention shifts to something—or someone—behind you.
You turn just as she brushes past you, wrapping her arms around Mattheo’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. The sight makes your stomach roll, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to bear watching them. Her giggles fill the air, loud and lovesick, a blatant declaration that he’s hers now.
“Whose jersey are you wearing?” Your eyes snap over to Mattheo, who has one arm around Veronica’s waist as he looks at you curiously. Her arms are tightly wrapped around his neck, and she looks frustrated that his attention is on you.
“Mine.” You glance over and see Theo approaching, a flicker of relief washing over you. A genuine smile spreads across your face, and before you think it through, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He looks momentarily surprised but quickly gathers himself, encircling your waist and holding you firmly.
You lean back slightly to meet his gaze, your voice softening. “Thank you for the flowers. Again.”
A warm, gentle smile blooms on his lips, the kind he reserves just for you. “Anytime, fiore.”
A moment lingers between you, where your eyes lock and soft smiles play on your lips. But the spell shatters at Veronica’s excited squeal of Mattheo’s name. You clear your throat, gently pulling away and offering Theo a fleeting smile, even though you sense his disappointment at the loss of your warmth.
Your gaze drifts toward Mattheo, who leans in to press a kiss against Veronica’s lips, a pang of longing twisting in your chest. You exhale slowly, then look back at Theo. “Are you nervous?”
“Not really,” he replies with a casual shrug, though you catch a flicker of something beneath his calm exterior. “But if I do get nervous, I’ll just search for the pretty girl wearing my name.”
Your lips part in surprise at Theo’s bold flirting, a playful spark igniting in your chest. You try to mask your smile, but it’s no use—Theo sees right through you, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he revels in your reaction.
“Good luck. I’ll wait for you after.” You lean in, nearly whispering as you press a kiss against Theo’s cheek, but in your nervousness, your lips brush against the corner of his mouth instead. The contact sends a spark of warmth through you, but before he can react, you pull away, leaving him to watch you walk off, the letters of his last name boldly displayed on your back.
He stands there for a second, staring after you, but as he turns to leave, he catches sight of Mattheo, who is watching you with an intensity that makes his heart sink.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
You’re exhausted. Keeping track of both Mattheo and Theo is proving to be more tiring than you anticipated. You’re used to focusing solely on Mattheo during the game, but tonight, your attention keeps shifting to Theo.
“Are you even listening to her?” Pansy scoffs, jabbing you in the ribs.
The unexpected nudge jolts you from your thoughts, and you turn to her, puzzled. “What?”
“Veronica. Are you paying attention?” Pansy glances over, raising an eyebrow.
You shake your head, “No. I didn’t even realize she was sitting nearby.”
“Listen to her. She’s been bragging about Mattheo.” That catches your attention. You follow Pansy’s finger as she points, and your gaze lands on Veronica a few rows ahead. As you focus, her voice cuts through the noise of the crowd, loud and unmistakable, carrying clearly despite the distance.
“Do you even know how long I waited to get him?” Veronica’s voice rises above the noise, smug and self-satisfied. You glance over just in time to see her gather her hair into a high ponytail, making sure the name on her back is fully visible. “Honestly, the effort was exhausting,” she adds with a dramatic sigh, as if she’s endured a great hardship.
The girls around her practically explode with excitement, bombarding her with questions—how did she do it? How long did it take? What’s he like? Their voices blend into a high-pitched buzz, and you roll your eyes, feeling the irritation build as you turn your attention back to the match, hoping to tune them out.
Pansy nudges you again, her voice low and insistent. “Keep listening.”
“No.” You grit out.
Pansy sighs, “Why not?”
You exhale sharply. “Because I really don’t want to hear her go on and on about him anymore.” The bitterness in your voice is hard to hide, but you don’t care. You’re too tired of hearing his name on her lips.
“You’ve barely listened!”
“It was enough for me.”
“There’s something off about the way she talks about him,” Pansy pushes, leaning in to try and catch your eye, but you continue looking forward and watching Theo. “I don’t like it.”
“I mean, I don’t either. But I’m not going to keep listening in.”
“Why?” Pansy cries out incredulously, gaining the attention of some people around you.
“Because I’m supposed to be getting over him, and I don’t think listening in as his girlfriend talks about him will do that.”
“But what if something’s off? What if she’s blackmailing him or something?” Pansy asks, before she gasps and turns to face you fully. “What if he’s dating her to make you jealous?”
“Do you really think Mattheo Riddle would allow someone to blackmail him? And secondly, I don’t think that’s the case.”
“You never know. I always thought he had feelings for you.”
“Pansy. This is what I’m talking about,” You snap, sending a warning look to your best friend. “Mattheo can take care of himself, you and I both know that. There’s no way I’ll ever get over him if I start making up theories about why he’s with his girlfriend. Veronica’s…. something else, we know that, but that doesn’t mean she’s not with him for a genuine reason.”
Pansy exhales in frustration, adjusting in her seat as she finally turns her attention to the match. “Alright, I get it. I’ll just share my theories with Blaise from now on.”
A smirk tugs at your lips as you imagine Blaise enduring the same conversation, likely rolling his eyes in exasperation, “Fine by me.”
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
Thanks to Theo’s swift catch of the Snitch, Slytherin secured the win, and the stands erupted in cheers. You’d screamed so loudly in celebration that you’re certain he heard you, even from across the pitch. The thrill of the moment filled you with energy, and you felt a surge of pride as he glanced your way after the catch.
You were eager to congratulate him, but held back, letting the others swarm him first. Instead, you were leaned against the wall outside the locker room, waiting for a moment alone with him. As you stood there, it wasn’t long before your mind wandered. You found yourself watching him from afar—his chest still heaving from the intensity of the match, hair tousled and damp with sweat. There was something about the way he looked after a game that had your thoughts trailing off in a completely different direction.
It brought you back to yesterday—the way he looked, water glistening on his skin, fingers running through his damp waves, and eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. The memory sent a rush of heat straight through you.
Had Theo Nott always been this gorgeous?
When he turns and catches your eye, you fully expect him to give the usual ‘wait a minute’ gesture, like Mattheo always does. But instead, to your surprise, Theo pushes straight through the crowd. In an instant, he’s in front of you, pulling you up into his arms. You let out a shriek of his name through laughter, completely caught off guard by the sudden hug, his embrace warm and tight as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along.
“You did so good!” You cry out as he sets you down. When he grins at you, it’s almost enough to make you swoon; the sight of post-match Theo is something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. The blend of adrenaline and joy radiating from him leaves you momentarily breathless.
“It’s because you wore my jersey,” he shrugs, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I didn’t get to say it earlier, but you look really good in it.”
You nearly melt, “Does that mean I get to wear it at the next game?”
“Please do, love,” he says, his tone suddenly softer, the endearment dripping with warmth like honey. There’s a sincerity in his gaze that sends a flutter through your chest. “You make it look far better than I ever could.”
You don’t get the chance to respond as Enzo suddenly appears by his side, rambling on about something animatedly. With a quick tug, Enzo pulls Theo away, but not before he glances back, shouting over his shoulder about how he’ll see you later.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
“Y’good?” Theo looks up from the fire, his gaze shifting to Blaise, who’s now standing beside the couch. The flames had been the only company he’d had for hours. It was late—he couldn’t say exactly how late—just that the common room had emptied long ago, and he’d been sitting there long after everyone else had gone to bed after celebrating their win.
“Yeah,” Theo sighs, his eyes drifting back to the flickering flames. “I’m good.” His words are hollow, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. Blaise watches him for a moment, studying the tension in his posture, before quietly sitting down in the empty space beside him. Neither of them speaks, both of them watching as the flames dance.
Blaise leans back, glancing at Theo before breaking the silence. “You don’t look it,” he says, his voice calm but direct.
“Just thinking.” Theo just shrugs, his shoulders barely lifting, the gesture heavy with indifference. Blaise watches him for a moment, waiting, giving him the space to say something more—but the silence stretches.
“About her?”
Theo’s reaction is answer enough. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair with a tired frustration. For a brief moment, he pauses, elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands.
He drops his hands slowly, lifting his head to glance over at Blaise, his eyes tired, “When am I not?”
Blaise smiles slightly at his words. He’s known for years that Theo liked you—it was impossible to miss. From the moment Mattheo introduced you, Blaise vividly remembers the way Theo looked at you, as if his breath had been knocked from his lungs.
He was completely undone by one glimpse of you.
And if that hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the little things Theo did for you over the years certainly were—grabbing your favorite sweets from Hogsmeade when you couldn’t make the trip, offering help before you even had to ask, his gaze always seeking you out no matter how crowded the room. It was undeniable, even if Theo never spoke it aloud.
“Listen, mate,” Blaise begins, casting a quick glance at Theo, gauging his expression before continuing. “Do you think this is a good idea?”
“What?”
“Helping her get over Mattheo while you’re in love with her yourself.” Blaise’s words hang in the air, and Theo’s jaw tightens instinctively, a storm of emotions flickering across his face.
He wants to deny that he’s in love with you, but deep down, he knows it’s pointless. The truth is unquestionable; he’s been drawn to you for years, but these last few months have sent him falling even deeper.
How was he ever supposed to get over you when every moment only pulled him deeper? The way your fingers slipped so easily into his, like they belonged there, the soft curve of your lips as his thumb traced gentle circles over your skin. How sleeping over in your dorm had somehow become routine—he was sure Pansy was staying with Blaise on purpose to give him space with you.
It’s why he hasn’t left this couch in hours, struggling with the weight of his feelings. The realization hits him hard: he’s completely fallen for you, and he’s trapped. Because in your eyes, he’s just a friend, and that thought feels like a punch to the gut.
“She asked me to, and I can’t say no to her,” Theo replies, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and resignation. “I’ve never been able to.”
“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you’re not careful.” Blaise warns, his tone serious.
“We’ve long passed that point.” Theo sighs.
.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.
The knock at your door isn’t much of a surprise—you figured that as soon as Pansy left to meet Blaise, Theo would come knocking. It had become part of your routine over the past month. In fact, he had become the person you saw the most.
Walk to the Great Hall? Sit by Theo. Evenings in the common room? Always with your friends, sat beside Theo. As soon as Pansy disappeared to the boys’ dorm, that was Theo’s cue to show up at your door.
He was so deeply ingrained into your life that it was almost hard to remember what things were like before him.
“I think this is a record—” You begin with a grin, flinging open the door—only for your smile to falter.
It’s not Theo.
Mattheo stands there instead, a split lip and a bruise blooming across his cheekbone in deep shades of purple and red. It looks painful, and you wince at the sight of him.
A disbelieving scoff escapes him. “You were waiting for him?”
One hand braces against the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder, like he’s expecting Theo to come around the corner. “Can you two do nothing without each other?”
“Do you need something, Mattheo?”
He turns back to you, the bitterness in his expression fading as he lifts his fingers to wipe at the blood on his lip. It smears more than it cleans, and you scrunch your nose slightly in distaste. A month ago, you would’ve pulled him into your dorm without hesitation—but now, you’re angry with him.
It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him to fuck off, that it’s no longer his business who you’re waiting for. Not when you’ve barely seen him, and every attempt to talk has been ignored. Ever since that day at the lake, he’s been even more distant than before. And if he so much as looks like he might breathe in your direction, Veronica is there, tugging him away. It’s mind-boggling. Up until now, you hadn’t let yourself believe it, but maybe this really is how your school year ends—with you and Mattheo no longer friends.
“I got into a fight—” You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a deadpan look.
“—and I just couldn’t bring myself to go to the infirmary. Not when this has always been your job.”
There’s a part of you that bristles at him calling it your job to take care of him, but you know he’s right. After every fight, he’d show up at your door, and you’d patch him up as best you could. But things are different now, and it doesn’t feel right to take care of him when he’s all but disappeared from your life.
“It’s not my job anymore. Not when you have a girlfriend.” You move to shut the door, but Mattheo shoots his hand out, stopping it before it can close.
“Love, please.” Your stomach lurches at the way the nickname rolls off his tongue—directed at you this time. “I need your help.”
You hesitate, staring at him for a long moment, weighing just how stupid of an idea this might be. But Mattheo’s pull on you—his presence, his voice, the familiarity—is still too strong. With a sigh, you step aside and swing the door open before gesturing to your bed.
There’s not a whole lot you can do besides blot his lip with a clean cloth and apply some cream to the bruise on his cheek, but it’s always seemed to work for him. By the time you’ve dampened the cloth with warm water and gathered what you need, Mattheo is already settled on your bed, staring at the wall of polaroids.
It’s different now. And something bitter churns in Mattheo’s stomach as he takes in the changes to your photo wall. Some of the pictures of the two of you have been replaced, now filled with snapshots of you and Theo. One shows you curled into Theo’s side, grinning widely at the camera as you squish his cheeks together with your hand. Another captures you sandwiched between Theo and Enzo, all three of you wearing sunglasses and flipping off the camera.
But it’s the photo of you and Theo at the lake that makes his chest tighten. Your legs are wrapped around Theo as he holds you up in the water, he’s smiling at the camera, and you’re pressing a kiss against his cheek. You’re wearing that red bikini—the one that had knocked the air from his lungs the moment he saw you in it. He remembers how stunned he was, how he’d nearly forgotten Veronica was beside him until she slapped his arm and muttered something sharp.
“She needs a bigger size,” she’d said. “It’s too tight on her hips. I should give her one of my old ones.”
He hadn’t said a word, but the way his eyes stayed locked on you had said enough. He didn’t agree—he thought you were perfect.
“What’d you get in a fight over?” Mattheo’s eye shift over to you, settling down onto the bed next to him and showing him the cloth, a warning you were going to touch him before bringing the damp, white cotton to his lip. Mattheo sucks in a breath and watches as you focus on cleaning the cut.
“Nothing important.” He mumbles, careful not to move too much for you.
“Clearly, it felt important to you.” You hold up the blotchy, red-stained cloth as proof.
He sighs, “It wasn’t.”
You glance up at him, but he’s staring off to the side, jaw tight, and you decide to let it go. You know him—if he got worked up enough to start a fight, then it meant something to him.
The room falls quiet as you work, the silence stretching between you. Still, your mind spins, trying to piece together what could’ve pushed Mattheo far enough to throw punches.
“Why didn’t you go to her?” You ask softly.
Mattheo’s face stays blank, and for a moment, you wonder if he even heard you.
“It’s just—” he starts, then pauses. His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, and something shifts in the air. The way he’s looking at you now—it’s different. Intense. It sends your pulse into a quiet frenzy. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
“It shouldn’t be the same,” You murmur, correcting him. “We’re just friends, but it’s different with you and her.”
“I know, I know.” He mumbles, drawing in a deep breath.
You set the cloth aside, watching him carefully as you reach for the cream. It’ll only take a couple dabs on his cheek andhe’ll be good to go—but still, you move slowly. Selfishly, you want to stretch the moment. He hasn’t been this close in weeks. You haven’t really heard his voice in what feels like forever.
Not when he’s talking to the boys. Not in passing in the corridors. That doesn’t count. Not like this.
“Do you like her for me?” He asks, and you inwardly sigh.
“I haven’t given it much thought.” You reply, dabbing the cream gently onto the bruise as he watches you.
You keep your focus fixed on the task—too careful, too precise—because meeting his eyes feels too intimate. Too dangerous.
“The boys always said it would be you.” He says quietly.
Your hand stills for a moment, eyes flicking up to meet his, uncertain.
“About what?” You’re stalling, hoping to have more time to process.
“Who I’d end up with.”
“Oh,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
How are you supposed to respond to that? Tell him you’d hoped for the same? That you’d heard the boys say it, more times than you could count—and every time, you let yourself believe it a little more.
Hoped that maybe, if they said it enough, he’d start to believe it too.
“Did they ever tell you that? That they thought you’d end up with me?”
Your voice falters, your hand falling to your lap as you stare at him. You’re too close—far too close. You need him out. Away from you. He has a girlfriend.
But then he says your name, soft and low, and you freeze.
Your mind is screaming at you to move, to stand up, to tell him it’s time to go.
But you don’t get the chance—because there’s a knock at your door and just like that, the moment is gone.
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