hiii welcome to this vlog!! In here, I post my writings sometimes, which I'm pretty inconsistent with, ngl. I mostly write these things when I'm really feeling it, that's why I might take so long to post some things since I might start them but finish them until weeks later because i got lazy haha anyways here are my writings so far which I hope you guys like!!
Noticed - Theodore Nott x Reader
After transfer student, Y/N L/N, has to duel against Mattheo Riddle in a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson and notices something a tad suspicious about his magic, Mattheo’s best friend, Theodore Nott, takes no time in noticing her back.
Tiny Woodland Creatures - Theodore Nott x Reader
The reader and Nott are playing with Sylvanian Families. Basically it.
Just the tips - Theodore Nott x Vampire!Reader (smut)
I'll continue updating this whenever I post mor stuff but yeah i hope you guys enjoy!!!
synopsis: You are a youtuber that is apart of “Flamingo and Friends.” You, Denis, laugh, flamingo, dani, temp, paige all took a beach trip. you and Albert stayed out later than the others. not proof read lol. made this in 30 mins.
—————————————————————————-
The sound of waves crashing against the shore and sand crunching fills your ears as you lay down in the sand in the dark.
The sun has completely set, your body is sunburnt and sore, but leaving the beach is not on your agenda at the moment, you just want to lay out.
Albert walks over to you and drags you by your ankle closer to the water. You look up and laugh as the sand underneath you roughly but comfortably slides as your body drags across it.
“Get up and stop being lame we literally have the beach to ourselves.” Albert says as he dramatically drops your foot back into the sand.
“Dawg my whole body is burnt. I want to lay and listen to beach.” You say back as you dramatically sit up.
“Bro you’re literally just aura farming for no one, get up” He laughs at you.
You dramatically sigh and standup. You and albert spend roughly another hour on the beach before you both agree to wrap it up and go back to the hotel.
It’s 12:35 AM when you guys get into the hotel room. the room is split funny. there is a living area with a couch, kitchen, bathroom, and two balconies. the big room has two “single” rooms connected on either end. Paige and Dani are sleeping in one, while the boys in the other.
You and albert make your separate ways, you head to the big bathroom to shower while albert goes to the room with the other guys to shower in that bathroom.
The hot water runs down you body and you sigh as you rub all the sand and dead skin off your body in the cold water. When you see yourself in the mirror as you dry off and brush your teeth, your shoulders feel burnt from the sun and you face feels flushed.
The change of clothes feels incredible on your now clean body and you leave the bathroom. Albert is laid out on the couch with the pillow and huge blanket the hotel provided in the closet.
“Do you not wanna share the bed with temp?” you tease him
“There’s actually no more space in the beds so i’m gonna use the couch” He laughs
“Cmon man I know you want to share the full size bed with your 2 homies” You joke as you walk over to the door that leads to dani and paige’s room but the door is locked.
“no are we serious right now” You groan as you stare at the closed door. You send a text to paige and dani to see if either are awake but neither give a response.
“are you good over there?” Albert whispers from the couch as he peeks over.
“no man, the door is locked.” You reply in a whisper as you walk over to the couch. “can I sit? maybe they’ll text back I don’t want to knock on the door. it’s late” you add.
“Of course dude” Albert replies as he shifts his position to sit up on the arm of the chair and fold his legs closer to him.
Time passes as you and albert sit there in comfortable silence as you scroll on your phone.
“Lowkey can we just share the couch tonight, i’ll stay on this end.” you ask him, eyeing the sunburn all over his face.
“As long as you keep you feet AWAY from my face” He replied with fake aggression. you clown him for it and get comfortable.
Albert dramaticly takes the back cushions off the couch and throws them to the floor to give more room. Y’all lay on opposite ends of each other in the same blanket on the couch in uncomfortable silence.
“Can you stop rolling so much it’s taking away the blanket” You whine at him.
Albert huffs, frustrated with the sleeping situation but not trying to make a huge deal because it’s really not that deep.
“Yeah i’m sorry, i’ll try.” He responds blankly.
after some silence he speaks up, barely noticeable and almost a whisper. “Do you just wanna come up here?”
You sit up and look to his end of the couch. He’s slightly sat up with a soft expression, he lifts the blanket up and scoots closer to the back of the couch.
“are you serious? like is that okay?” You ask confused. What will your friends think when they wake up to see you and Albert snuggled on a couch?
“Yeah it’s just easier, only if you’re comfortable though” He replies sheepishly.
You gather your thoughts and eventually agree. You and albert toss and turn until you figure out the best method… and that is laying face to face, it’s better then spooning your friend.
You can feel his breath on your face, you keep your eyes closed to prevent any awkward eye contact.
———————————————————————
After what felt like only an hour of sleep. you wake up confused, as you regain your consciousness you become very aware of the situation you’re in.
Albert on his back, you draped over him, his hand over your waist. Your body burns hot as you breathe in the scent of his body wash and melt into the embrace you should definitely break out of.
Albert has always been a cute fella in your mind, he’s a little weird but it matches your weird perfectly so maybe this isn’t too bad… a win is a win.
You sink into the embrace and hope he doesn’t wake up and shove you off him in the morning.
Albert doesn’t leave that position all night.
———————————————————————-
“oh naw, no way!” Temp giggles in a whisper as he takes a picture of you and Albert laid on each other, Albert snoring in your face.
The sun is shining and the wind whistles as it hits the windows.
Temp dramatically shakes you both and sends you jumping awake.
“what the hell?!” you yell as you look around. Temp is folded over laughing and a confused Albert stays laid next to you.. hand still on your waist.
You groan at temp. “Y’all took over the bed and dani locked the door, where else do we go?” you say groggily.
“Hey i never said you can’t share the couch, just confused on the cuddling” Temp laughs as he walks to the kitchen.
You and Albert make eye contact and he breaks it to look at his hand on your waist. His face goes hot and you sit in silence for a moment.
You tear your eyes away to check the time, leaning over Albert to grab your phone. His whole body is warm and the room feels 10 times hotter as your bodies press together. it’s only 7 am. Albert peeks the time on your phone and groans something on the lines of “oh hell no” and drags you back down.
Catching you completely by surprise as you are laid back down on his shoulder. Albert mumbles about how “temp mad he had to cuddle Dennis” and pulls you tighter then goes back to sleep.
You question if was ever truly conscious and if he actually knows what he’s doing. You laugh at him and follow him back to sleep.
have you guys seen the interview where ringo was sick so they brought out this random girl who kind of looked like him and pretended she was ringo. funniest thing ever actually no notes
hii queen can you make a fic of theo finding a cat and it only lets theo pet it and spend time with it. and one day theo sees the cat walking to reader only to find out it’s her cat. and everyone thinks it’s his cat cuz it spends most time in the slytherin common room with him than in hufflepuffs common room
sorry if this is complicated 😭😭😭
𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭
SUMMARY: A black cat starts spending every evening in the Slytherin common room. The entire school assumes she's Theodore's. Theodore assumes she's his. The cat disagrees.
The Slytherin common room was unusually peaceful one evening when the portrait hole swung open and a sleek black cat with bright green eyes slipped inside.
Mattheo noticed first.
"Oi, whose cat is that?"
Pansy immediately cooed and reached down.
"Come here, pretty baby—"
The cat dodged her hand gracefully and continued walking like it owned the place.
Enzo tried next, crouching with a friendly smile.
"Here, kitty—"
It ignored him completely.
Draco smirked.
"Clearly has good taste."
He extended a hand.
The cat walked straight past him without a glance.
Blaise raised an eyebrow but didn't even bother trying.
Then the cat spotted Theodore Nott.
Theo was lounging on the couch near the fireplace, reading, when the cat jumped gracefully onto the cushion beside him. Without hesitation, it climbed into his lap, circled once, and curled up with a contented purr.
Theo froze for half a second, then a rare, soft smile broke across his face. He gently stroked the cat's head, and it pushed into his hand happily.
"Well," Theo murmured, amused, "hello to you too."
Mattheo stared in disbelief.
"What the fuck? It rejected all of us and chose you?"
Pansy gasped dramatically.
"Theo's officially a cat whisperer."
From that night on, it became a regular occurrence.
Every evening, the black cat would appear in the Slytherin common room and make a beeline for Theo. It ignored everyone else, even when Daphne tried offering it treats. It only wanted Theo.
And Theo—who had always loved cats but never had one of his own—didn't mind at all.
He started keeping a small blanket on his favorite couch for the cat. He didn't even complain when black fur started sticking to all his hoodies. In fact, he seemed quietly pleased every time the cat showed up.
The rest of the group nicknamed the cat "Theo's Shadow."
One morning, with no classes scheduled, Theo was sitting in the courtyard enjoying the rare winter sunlight when he felt a familiar weight jump onto the bench beside him.
He looked down, surprised.
"You're early today."
The cat meowed and immediately climbed into his lap, purring loudly as Theo scratched behind its ears.
A few Slytherins walking by stopped and stared.
One fifth-year whispered,
"That's Nott's cat, isn't it? It's never out during the day."
Theo just smirked softly and continued petting the cat.
Then a gentle voice called out across the courtyard.
"Bella!"
The cat's ears perked up.
It hopped gracefully from Theo's lap, landed perfectly on all four paws, and trotted happily toward you—a Hufflepuff girl with a warm smile and a scarf in your house colors.
Theo watched, stunned, as Bella rubbed against your legs, purring even louder than she did with him.
You crouched down to pick her up, cradling her against your chest.
That's when you noticed Theo watching.
"Oh," you said, eyes widening in surprise. "She's been bothering you, hasn't she?"
Theo stood up slowly and walked over.
"She's yours?"
You nodded, a little embarrassed.
"Yes. Bella's been disappearing in the evenings lately. I thought she was just exploring the castle. I tutor a fifth-year after dinner, so I let her wander a bit... I didn't realize she was coming to the Slytherin common room."
A few students nearby who had seen Bella constantly with Theo were openly gawking.
One of them blurted out,
"Wait—that's your cat? We all thought it was Nott's. She hates everyone else but him."
You laughed softly, cheeks turning pink.
"She's usually really picky. I'm surprised she chose you."
Theo's gaze softened as he looked at Bella, then at you.
"She has good taste."
You smiled shyly.
"Thank you for being kind to her. Most people get annoyed when she shows up where she shouldn't."
"I don't mind," Theo said quietly. "She's good company."
There was a small, comfortable pause.
You told him your name, shifting Bella in your arms.
"Theodore Nott," he replied, even though you already knew his name. "You can call me Theo."
Your smile grew.
"Well, Theo... it seems my cat has excellent judgment."
Bella meowed in agreement, making both of you laugh softly.
Theo reached out and gently stroked Bella's head one last time. The cat purred happily between you.
"Maybe I'll see you both around more often then," he said, voice low but warm.
You met his eyes, a spark of something new passing between you.
"I'd like that."
As you walked away toward the Hufflepuff common room, Theo stood there for a moment longer, watching you go with a small, private smile on his face.
Bella had chosen him.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd found another reason to look forward to evenings.
“Blimey, how did this even happen?” Enzo Berkshire whispered from the entrance of the Slytherin Common Room, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight across the room.
“I don’t think even they know, mate,” Blaise Zabini said, the stone entrance wall shutting behind where he stood transfixed, his dark-brown eyes locked on the two entangled dozers.
You and Theodore Nott had both skipped out on dinner for the night, opting instead to work on the Potions essay Snape had assigned the pair of you — which you had both conveniently pushed off for weeks, and immediately regretted once you saw the workload that had been assigned.
Your identical copies of Advanced Potion Making lay open on the small table in front of the fireplace, along with twenty other library books you had borrowed; which Madam Pince would have a right fit about if she saw the notes you had sprawled in the margins.
Somehow, the two of you had ended up curled together on one of the leather sofas in the Common Room, your three-foot essay on Golpalott’s Third Law long forgotten.
Theo’s head was dangling off the arm of the couch, his brunette curls tousled. Your head was resting on his chest, one hand resting over his beating heart. His arms were locked around you, holding you flush against him, your shallow breaths syncing with one another.
“Should we wake them?” Pansy Parkinson asked, her arms crossed as she stared at your sleeping forms.
“Ah, let ‘em rest,” Mattheo Riddle said, taking a swig from a bottle of Butterbeer he had brought back from the Great Hall for Theo. “Theo’s been having a hard time sleeping for days now, anyway.”
Draco Malfoy smirked, watching as Theo instinctively pulled you closer to him as he slept.
“Someone should go find that little blond stepstool who’s always following Potter around with that camera,” he suggested. “This is way too good to pass up.”
-Y/N L/N accidentally gets invited in a group chat.
Profiles
Chapter 1: I'm Gonna Leave
Chapter 2: Dont Skip Class
Chapter 3: Their Interest
Chapter 4: Sneaking In
Chapter 5: I don't understand why you denied the obvious
Chapter 6: Slytherins Property
TBC
I'm obsessed with these boys and its so hard gathering stories about them
Tom is my favorite so I'm sorry if theres more moments with Tom than the others
I dont really know Mattheo and Lorenzo much so idk if theyll be ooc but this is how I see theyd act but i added them anyway because theyre hot af
I'm still unsure whether to make it poly since i want them all but i just dont see or think theyd all get together romantically
I'm not a hufflepuff but for the sake of the story :3 I added some characters and made up people since i need to for the story just dont mind the thingies
I didn't add Regulus bcuz hes a Marauders era type of guy. why add Tom? because i prefer Tom and its not like he has his era of people yk
idk what else to add here so I thinn ill end the note here I hope you enjoy the story i love you alll <3
"I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved."
word count: 4,339.
summary: the aftermath of theo believing you chose cedric over him. as the chapter shifts from past to present, both of you begin questioning the silence and distance between you, slowly realizing that the story behind it may not contain the full truth.
author’s note: trudging along the pain train, but don't worry, it gets so much worse! then finally gets better, I swear lol. don't hate me too much, I promise everything will feel so satisfying in the end. love ya mwah ( ˘ ³˘) ♥︎
♫ someone you loved - lewis capaldi. nav. chapters. more theo.
Past
September 30, 2002
Theo’s Townhome — Rome, Italy
Dear Bella,
I used to think heartbreak would feel dramatic.
Like something violent. Something catastrophic.
A curse to the chest. A broomstick plummeting from the sky. Some grand, terrible unraveling befitting the sheer devastation of loving you.
I was wrong.
Heartbreak, I’ve learned, is much quieter than that.
It is sitting across from you at dinner while another man makes you laugh. It is smiling when you introduce him, pretending my entire world isn’t quietly collapsing beneath my feet. It is realizing that the life I had been too frightened to reach for has continued on without me.
I always knew there would come a day when someone else might hold your heart.
I just never allowed myself to imagine what it would feel like to witness it.
Now I know.
It feels like grief.
Not the sharp, immediate kind. No, this grief is slower. More insidious. A thousand tiny deaths stretched across polite dinners, shared laughter, and every moment I’m forced to watch someone else stand where I have spent years aching to be.
The worst part is that I can’t even hate him.
Merlin knows I’ve tried.
But Cedric is good to you.
He’s steady where I am restless. Safe where I am fractured. Open in ways I have never quite managed to be.
And you seem happy.
You seem beautifully, devastatingly happy that I can’t even bring myself to resent you for it.
So instead, I do what cowards do best.
I love you silently.
I stand beside you as your best friend while every selfish part of me grieves something I never truly had.
I wonder, sometimes, if things would be different had I been brave enough to hand you the letter myself.
Had I trusted you with the truth instead of hiding it between folded parchment and fear.
But I wasn’t brave.
And now I must live with that.
You once told me that healing requires honesty.
I think perhaps that’s why I remain so thoroughly unhealed.
Because I have never been honest with you about the one thing that mattered most.
I love you.
I suspect I always will.
Even if loving you means learning how to survive being left behind.
For Always,
Teddy
There was something ritualistic about this now. Like self-inflicted punishment, torturous and masochistic at its very core.
He stopped pretending these letters were for you.
They were for him.
A way to bleed without making a mess anyone could see. A way to say things he had no right to say out loud, because saying them out loud would make them real in a way he could no longer take back.
And maybe that was the point.
Because in the writing, there was a strange kind of control. If he couldn’t change what had already been lost, he could at least decide how honestly he mourned it.
Even if no one reads it.
Even if it changed nothing at all.
Past
September 1, 2002
Rosemere Cottage — Cornwall, England
When Theo returned from Rome, he already knew.
Or perhaps knowing wasn’t quite the right word.
Hope, after all, had a way of making fools out of people.
Even when your letters had gradually begun mentioning Cedric more and more. Even when your words remained warm but carefully absent of any acknowledgement toward the confession Theo had poured onto parchment with trembling hands.
Still, some deeply pathetic part of him had clung to the possibility that perhaps you simply hadn’t read it yet.
That perhaps life had merely gotten in the way.
That perhaps—
Then Cedric arrived at dinner.
And just like that, Theo’s last fragile delusion died a swift and merciless death.
Your mother, as radiant as ever, welcomed Theo home with enough enthusiasm to almost make him forget the slow collapse currently unfolding inside his chest.
“Theodore!”
Before Theo could so much as set down his coat, Estelle was already pulling him into an aggressively affectionate embrace.
“Oh, look at you,” she fussed, holding him at arm’s length for a proper inspection. “A few weeks in Rome and somehow you’ve come back even more handsome. Honestly, it’s sickening.”
“Careful, Estelle,” Theo drawled, forcing ease into his voice. “Keep flattering me like this and I may become unbearable.”
You nearly choked on your wine. “Too late.”
Theo turned to you with mock offense. “Betrayal. From my oldest ally.”
Cedric laughed lightly from across the table. “He does make a strong case for himself.”
Theo placed a hand over his chest. “Diggory, I’m touched. I had no idea you were capable of such excellent judgment.”
“I have my moments,” Cedric replied good-naturedly.
“Don’t encourage him,” you muttered, already fighting a smile. “Theo’s ego is already unbearable without validation.”
“Unbearable?” Theo echoed, scandalized. “I prefer exceptional.”
“Delusional,” you corrected.
“Gifted,” Theo countered.
Estelle laughed softly into her wine. “Unfortunately,” she said, “he’s been like this since birth.”
“And yet,” Theo replied, grin widening, “you adore me anyway.”
“That,” Estelle said as she rose to retrieve dessert from the kitchen, “is because unlike my daughter, I know how to properly appreciate a menace.”
And there it was again. That warmth. That unshakable, maternal love Theo had clung to for years in the absence of so much else.
Something in his expression softened. “Thank Merlin,” he said lightly.
When Estelle returned carrying her famous chocolate cake, the entire table visibly brightened.
“Well,” you said, sitting up straighter. “Here we are. The true reason Theo came back from Rome.”
Theo grinned cheekily.
“Honestly,” Estelle sighed fondly, slicing into the cake. “I don’t know why I bother cooking actual dinner when this is clearly all any of you care about.”
“Because you love us,” Theo replied.
“Some more than others,” you quipped.
Estelle ignored you entirely.
Instead, with all the ceremony of a queen bestowing favor upon her chosen heir, she placed the largest slice directly in front of Theo.
Your jaw dropped. “Mum!”
Theo looked down at his plate, then back at Estelle with an expression of profound satisfaction.
“Well,” he said, utterly insufferable. “I do believe that settles it.”
“This is outrageous,” you declared.
Cedric laughed softly, shaking his head. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Traitor,” you accused.
Theo took an obscenely smug bite. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Victory has never tasted sweeter.”
“You are the worst.”
“And still the favorite.”
“You’re not even her child!”
“Love transcends blood, bella.”
Estelle was openly laughing now, completely unapologetic.
Cedric watched the ease between you and Theo without interrupting it.
For a while, it was easy. Laughter bounced warmly through the dining room. Your mum looked happier than Theo had seen her in ages. You glowed in that way you always did when surrounded by people you loved.
Cedric fit into the evening like he had been part of it all along.
And Theo…
Theo played his part beautifully. He smiled. Teased. Stole bites off your plate. Let himself exist in the comforting illusion that perhaps nothing had truly changed.
Until, somewhere between dessert and coffee, Cedric’s hand found yours beneath the table.
Like it belonged there.
His appetite vanished entirely. Wine suddenly tasted sour. Cake turned to ash on his tongue. Conversation blurred at the edges.
Two months.
Two bloody months.
Two months of a declaration you never acknowledged.
Two months of hoping. Of rationalizing. Of telling himself that perhaps things were simply delayed, not destroyed.
And all along, you had already begun building something new.
Something that did not include him in the way he had once foolishly imagined.
Theo remained until the end of dessert through sheer willpower alone. By the time Estelle offered tea, he was already pushing back his chair.
“Forgive me,” he said smoothly. “I promised Nonna I’d owl her once I arrived.”
Estelle’s expression softened immediately. “Don’t be a stranger, Theo.”
Theo’s smile was gentler. Realer. “Never, Estelle.”
You stood to hug him goodbye. And that, perhaps, was the cruelest part. Because you hugged him exactly the same. With the same amount of love and care that he knew no longer belonged to him.
As though his entire world had not quietly collapsed over cake and candlelight.
“I’m really glad you’re home, Teddy.”
Theo swallowed the ache rising in his throat and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, bella,” he murmured. “Me too.”
He stepped back before he could change his mind.
And as he turned toward the door, something small and uninvited surfaced in his mind.
My dad planted the rose garden when I was born.
Your voice, not now, but then. Cornwall sunlight in your hair. Bare feet on warm stone as you led him through the garden paths like it was the most ordinary thing in the world to talk openly about grief while the sea watched from a distance.
“Mum named it Rosemere Cottage after he passed,” you had said. “She said it felt right…like even after everything, this place still belonged to both love and memory.”
At the time, he hadn’t understood why he remembered it so clearly.
Now, he did.
Because as he stepped out into the cool night, he realized with starling clarity that home did not always mean safe.
Behind him, laughter still echoed faintly from the dining room.
Inside was warmth.
Light.
You.
Theo would later think that Rosemere Cottage had been the first place he had ever learned what home truly felt like.
And for the first time in his life, Theo understood that sometimes the thing you love most can become the very thing that ruins you.
Mattheo found him several hours later, halfway through a bottle of Ogden’s and rapidly working toward self-destruction.
“I’m so sorry, mate.”
Theo laughed then.
A broken, splintered laugh that sounded far too much like grief.
“She’s happy.”
It was the only thing he could manage.
Mattheo, for once, didn’t offer wit or teasing.
He simply stayed.
Though the drinking. Through the unraveling. Through the quiet devastation Theo could no longer suppress.
And later, when Theo’s heartbreak had exhausted itself into something quieter but no less painful, Mattheo guided him to bed, left water and potion by his nightstand, and said nothing at all about the tears Theo had been too drunk to hide.
It was, perhaps, the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.
But heartbreak, unfortunately, did not end there.
Because there were still two weeks of summer left.
And you, blissfully unaware of the destruction Theo was carefully concealing, wanted to spend them together.
Present
June 2, 2003
Madame Malkin’s Robes — London, England
“You’re spiraling,” Padma observed without looking up from the rail of dresses she was sorting through.
Hermione paused mid-step, an emerald gown draped over her arm. “Padma.”
“What?” she asked, entirely unbothered. “She is.”
You exhaled through your nose, smoothing your hand over the silk fabric you had been pretending to examine for the last ten minutes. It didn’t need smoothing. Nothing did. Still, your fingers kept moving anyways, like the action might keep your thoughts from settling too heavily in one place.
“I’m not spiraling,” you said.
Padma finally glanced at you, one brow lifting slightly.
“You’ve been glaring at chiffon for twenty minutes."
“What Padma means,” Hermione cut in gently, “is that you seem a little distracted.”
“I’m fine,” you replied automatically.
The response came too quickly, too practiced. Like if you said it enough times you might actually start to believe it.
Padma hummed, unconvinced, but mercifully didn’t press.
Hermione hung the green dress back and moved a little closer instead, her voice softening in that way she had when she didn’t want you to feel cornered.
“You’ve just been quieter than usual,” she said. “That’s all.”
“I’m always quiet when I’m shopping,” you said lightly.
Padma let out a small sound of amusement. “That’s not what Hermione meant, and you know it.”
You huffed a breath, setting the dress aside at last. It slipped from your hands too easily, like everything else in your life lately.
“I’m here,” you said.
Padma tilted her head. “You know, you’re not a very good liar.”
That almost pulled a smile from you.
Hermione shot her a look. “Padma.”
“What?” she repeated. “She isn’t.”
There was something comforting in the way they spoke to you. Direct, but never cruel. Honest in a way that didn’t feel like punishment.
A contrast you couldn’t stop noticing lately.
You adjusted the fabric again, even though it was already perfect.
“How was the fundraiser?” Hermione asked, easing the conversation forward.
You blinked slightly, grateful for the shift.
“Fine,” you said. “Busy. Cedric was there, the team was there. People drank too much firewhisky and pretended it was networking.”
“And Cedric?” Hermione asked again, softer now. “How is he liking the Cannons?”
You opened your mouth, then paused. Because you didn’t actually know. Not properly.
“He likes it,” you said finally. “He’s…busy. They travel a lot.”
Padma hummed again, quieter this time. “That’s it?”
You hesitated.
The silence that followed felt louder than your answer.
Your fingers stilled on the fabric.
For some reason, you thought of Theo. You hadn’t meant to, but your thoughts always seemed to drift towards him, like a reflex your mind hadn’t quite unlearned.
If Hermione had asked you about Theo, you would’ve known everything.
What he was reading. What he was avoiding. What he was pretending not to care about. You would’ve known without asking because Theo never required translation. Knowing him was like instinct. Almost as though you were always meant to be fluent in him.
He would’ve known the same about you.
He always had.
Cedric was kind. He was steady. He made space for you in his life.
But sometimes it felt like you were playing a role rather than being yourself.
Theo had never made you feel like something to display.
He would’ve been proud of you, yes, but not because of what you represented or how good you looked standing next to him. Just proud because he had always been your biggest supporter, even when you had no idea what you were doing.
The thought lodged itself in your chest before you could stop it.
You didn’t say any of it out loud.
But Hermione’s expression shifted anyway, like she had caught something in the silence between your words. Padma, of course, noticed too.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” she said, quieter now. Less teasing.
“I’m not,” you replied, though it sounded weaker than you intended.
Hermione stepped closer and adjusted a mauve dress against your shoulders, her hands careful and familiar.
“You can tell us,” she said gently. “Whatever it is.”
Something in your chest tightened.
“I know Theo needed space,” you said suddenly, voice quieter than before. Your fingers brushed over silver embroidery you hadn’t actually been seeing. “I know that. Merlin, I know him better than anyone.”
Hermione’s movements slowed.
“But everyone made choices for me,” you continued, and now the words were harder to hold back. “They let him disappear. They let me sit there and wonder, and none of them thought I deserved answers.”
Padma folded her arms. “That’s because your friends,” she said dryly, “are emotionally constipated aristocrats.”
A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“You’re not wrong,” you admitted.
Hermione shot Padma a look, though there was no real heat in it.
Then she looked back at you.
“Then maybe it’s time they stop deciding what protects you,” she said simply.
That settled something in you, though not fully.
Not yet, anyways.
Because even as you stood there, surrounded by silk and gold thread and the easy warmth of people who actually listened when you spoke, there was still a missing space inside you that nothing quite filled.
And you hated that you could name exactly who it belonged to.
You weren’t sure how long you stood there after that.
Hermione eventually returned to fussing over fabric choices like the conversation hadn’t shifted something important beneath all of you. Padma moved on to commenting that half the current season’s dresses looked like “they were designed by someone who has never met a human body before,” which unfortunately, you agreed with more than you should have.
It was easier that way.
Easier to pretend that you were just shopping. Easier to pretend that nothing had changed except the dresses on the rack.
But something had.
It stayed with you as you moved through the boutique, trailing silk and lace and too-expensive tags that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Cedric texted you once.
Then again later.
You didn’t open either immediately.
You told yourself you were just busy.
It was a little while later, as you stepped out of the boutique with far too many garment bags in hand and Hermione still debating whether she needed a backup gown “just in case,” that Padma suddenly slowed beside you.
“Here comes trouble,” she muttered.
You followed her gaze before you could ask what she meant.
Mattheo was leaning against the edge of a storefront like he had all the time in the world and nowhere particularly urgent to be. His dark coat hung open, posture loose and careless, with that familiar air of someone who was either about to flirt, fight, or do something profoundly reckless.
Possibly all three.
His hair was slightly unruly, his expression rakish, and there was something unmistakably dangerous about the sharp cut of his grin.
And yet, when his eyes landed on you, that grin softened into something far more familiar.
“There she is,” he drawled, pushing himself off the wall.
Hermione smiled politely. Padma looked unimpressed in the way she always did with people she deemed potentially chaotic.
“Riddle.”
Mattheo glanced between them, looking faintly entertained. “Granger. Patil. Always a pleasure being judged by London’s most terrifying intellectuals.”
Padma crossed her arms. “And yet you still insist on lowering the collective standard.”
That made him huff a quiet laugh. “Some of us commit to a brand.”
Mattheo stepped closer then, and whatever teasing edge he carried with everyone else dulled as his attention settled fully on you.
“You look tired,” he said simply.
“I’m fine,” you replied out of habit.
Mattheo’s gaze held yours, sharp in a way that reminded you he missed very little when it truly mattered.
“No,” he said, quieter now. “You’re not.”
Hermione, perceptive as ever, glanced between you both. “We were actually just heading to dinner,” she said lightly, like she was offering an escape route rather than an interruption.
Mattheo nodded once. “I won’t keep her long.”
Padma tilted her head toward you. “We’ll wait a bit ahead.”
Hermione gave your arm a gentle squeeze before following her, the two of them giving you space without making it obvious they were doing so.
Only when they were out of earshot did Mattheo speak again.
“I should’ve told you,” he said simply.
Your jaw tightened. “Yes,” you said quietly. “You should have.”
He nodded once, accepting it without defense. “I wanted to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Mattheo exhaled through his nose, gaze briefly dropping to the cobblestones beneath his boots.
“Because Theo asked us not to.”
The hurt that had already been simmering low in your chest twisted into something sharper.
“So he comes back to London after a year and just…what? Pretends I don’t exist?”
“That’s not what this is.”
Your laugh came out brittle. “Isn’t it?”
Mattheo’s expression tightened slightly. “No,” he said firmly. “It isn’t.”
He glanced up, and for once, there was no mischief there. No easy charm. Just the fierce protectiveness that had always existed beneath the sharp edges.
“Y/N,” he said carefully, “Theo coming back here…it’s not easy for him.”
Your hurt flared hotter. “Easy?” you repeated, incredulous. “Mattheo, he left.”
His silence was brief, but telling. “I know.”
“Do you?” you asked, more quietly now. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like everyone’s more concerned with protecting Theo than actually considering what any of this felt like for me.”
That, at least, seemed to hit.
Mattheo scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly looking far less like the effortlessly composed wizard most people saw.
“We handled it badly.”
You scoffed softly. “I'd say catastrophically, actually.”
“No,” he said, more serious now. “You’re right.”
His gaze met yours fully. “We should’ve done better by you.”
The sincerity in it stole some of your anger, though not nearly all of it. Mattheo had always been many things, but disingenuous was not one of them.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And somehow, coming from him, the words felt heavier. Mattheo never apologized unless he truly meant it. You knew he was being sincere.
You swallowed hard, looking away before the sting behind your eyes could fully betray you. “I just don’t understand,” you admitted.
Your voice came out smaller than intended. “If I mattered so little to him, then why does this hurt so much?”
Mattheo went very still. For the first time since you’d known him, he seemed genuinely caught off guard. Something flickered across his face—uncertainty, recognition, something like a thought he wasn’t prepared to voice.
His brow furrowed slightly. “That’s not…” he started, then stopped.
You looked back at him. “What?”
But Mattheo, for once, seemed to think better of whatever he’d nearly said.
“Nothing,” he replied, though it was far too quick.
Your eyes narrowed. “Mattheo.”
He offered you a crooked smile then, but it lacked its usual mischief.
“Trust me,” he said lightly, though something about it felt carefully measured now. “There are a lot of things in this world Theo considers insignificant, but you aren’t one of them.”
The statement settled strangely in your chest.
Before you could press further, Mattheo gently took one of the heavier garment bags from your hand.
“You should go,” he said, nodding towards the direction Hermione and Padma had headed. “Before Granger starts organizing a full scale search on your behalf.”
Despite everything, you let out a soft laugh. “She absolutely would.”
“Terrifying witch.”
“Why do you think we’re friends?”
Mattheo handed the bag back, his grin returning, though softer this time.
“For what it’s worth,” he said. “I am sorry, Y/N.”
His sincerity, so familiar and warm, nearly undid you.
He stepped back then, returning once more to that dangerous, careless persona he wore so effortlessly.
“Now go,” he added. “Before Patil decides I’ve emotionally compromised you beyond repair.”
“It’s a little too late for that.”
Mattheo smirked. “Please. If I were truly trying to ruin you, you’d know.”
You rolled your eyes, but the affection was there.
As you turned to leave, however, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted.
Because beneath Mattheo’s apology…
Beneath his loyalty…
Beneath all his carefully chosen words…
There had been hesitation.
As if he knew something.
Something he wasn’t ready to say.
And for the first time, you began to wonder if Theo’s silence had never been quite as simple as you had allowed yourself to believe.
Past
September 22, 2002
London Floo Station — London, England
Theo made his decision a week early.
He couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t keep pretending that it wasn’t killing him. So he lied.
“Nonna needs me back sooner than I expected.”
It came out steadier than he felt.
Your face changed immediately.
“Oh,” you said.
One quiet syllable threaded with disappointment that somehow made everything worse.
Theo nodded once like it explained anything at all.
It didn’t.
The guilt hit him straight after, sharp and familiar, settling low in his chest like it had nowhere else to go.
But it still wasn’t enough to make him stay.
At the Floo station, everything felt too bright, too loud, too normal for what this actually was.
You stood beside him, fidgeting with your sleeve in a way you only did when you were trying not to think too hard about something.
“Are we okay?”
Theo’s entire body went still.
You looked endearingly earnest.
“I know things have been different,” you said softly. “And I know Cedric’s around more now, but…I just…” You swallowed. “You’re still the most important person in my life.”
Theo thought his heart might actually stop.
“If something’s wrong,” you whispered, “just tell me, Teddy.”
He could.
Merlin, he could.
He could ruin it all.
Tell you everything. Tell you that nothing was wrong between you and that was the problem. Tell you that Cedric wasn’t the issue. Tell you that the issue was him.
That he was standing here loving you in a way that had nowhere to go and no future to land in. That he didn’t know how to stay near you without it hurting. That he didn’t know how to leave without it killing him.
He swallowed it all down instead.
Because that was what he always did when it came to you.
He chose you.
Even when it cost him.
“We’re okay,” he said quietly. “Bella, we’re okay.”
Your shoulders loosened a little, like you’d been holding your breath without realizing.
Theo forced something that might’ve passed for a smile.
“As long as you’re happy,” he added softly, “I’m happy too.”
And you believed him.
Of course you did.
You always did.
That was the cruelest part.
You stepped forward then, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t everything, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
Warm. Familiar. Safe in a way he didn’t deserve anymore.
Theo closed his eyes for half a second too long.
“See you soon—”
“Goodbye, Y/N.”
He said it before you could finish.
Before he could lose his nerve.
It made you pause.
Just for a second.
Like something in the words didn’t sit quite right, even if you couldn’t name why.
Theo didn’t give you time to question it.
He stepped into the Floo before either of you could undo what was really happening.
And the moment he stepped through the emerald flames and arrived back in Rome, Theodore Nott finally shattered.
"I don't know why I run away; I'll make you cry when I run away."
word count: 4,563
summary: the death of tiberius nott unearths a whole slew of complicated emotions for theo. as he returns to nott manor for the first time in years, he reflects on the loss of his father and the ache of you not being beside him as he processes grief.
author’s note: I kid you not as I was writing this my mind went, "oh, the hoes are going to hate this." but unfortunately you will have to suffer through the angst my little rat brain has decided to cook up. you'll just have to trust the process •ᴗ•
♫ save your tears - the weeknd (feat. ariana grande). nav. chapters. more theo.
Present
May 15, 2003
Theo’s Townhome — Rome, Italy
Dear Bella,
Father is dead.
I suppose I should feel something profound enough to mark the occasion. Grief. Relief. Anger. Closure.
Instead, I feel nothing at all.
Perhaps that makes me cruel.
Or perhaps Tiberius Nott was never enough of a father to warrant mourning in the first place.
The wizard who died in Azkaban was never truly a parent to me. He was a tyrant. A man who viewed his only son not as a child to love, but as an heir to shape. An extension of himself to mold, control, and push until I fit neatly into the monstrous legacy he intended to leave behind.
He wanted a proper pureblood son while I wanted a father who didn’t beat me when he got into his cups. In the end, we were both disappointments to one another.
How exactly does one grieve a man they spent their whole life surviving?
Nonna seems to think I’m in shock. She insists on accompanying me back to England to settle the affairs of the estate, but I know this is something I must do alone.
I haven’t set foot in Nott Manor since the day you helped me escape. Strangely enough, when I think of returning, I don’t first remember my father.
I remember you.
I remember the iron gates.
Your trembling wand.
Your voice, usually so gentle, so unbearably kind, shaking with fury as you stood between me and everything that had ever tried to break me.
Theo is coming with me. If you try to stop us, I will kill you.
I had never heard you threaten anyone before that day. There isn’t a violent bone in your body. And yet, for me, you had been willing to become both violent and cruel.
I think that was the moment I realized just how deeply Nott Manor had poisoned everything it touched.
Because even you—soft, lovely, extraordinary you—had nearly let that darkness stain your soul in order to save mine.
I couldn’t allow that.
I think…perhaps that’s what finally gave me the courage to leave.
Not self-preservation. Not bravery. You.
You deserved better than haunted halls and bloodstained family names. You deserved safety. Warm. Light.
You always did.
I imagine Diggory gives you those things now.
The thought should comfort me more than it does. Instead, it leaves me feeling oddly hollow.
Safe.
You deserve safe. And I was never safe. Not for myself. Certainly not for you.
And perhaps that is the cruelest part of loving you still—
Knowing that even if you reached for me now, I wouldn’t know how to hold you without first bleeding on everything I touch.
Promise me you won’t cry for me, bella.
You shouldn’t waste your tears on me. I sure as hell won’t be wasting mine on my father.
After all, no one mourns the wicked.
For Always,
Teddy
Like every letter before it, Theo folded the parchment carefully and tucked it away unsent.
Because distance was easier than discovering he had already lost you.
Past
August 1, 2002
Theo’s Townhome — Rome, Italy
At first, Theo told himself you were simply busy.
It was a reasonable explanation, really.
You had just started your apprenticeship at St. Mungo’s, something you had worked tirelessly toward for years. Between orientation, long shifts, new responsibilities, and the general chaos that came with finally stepping into the career you had always dreamed of, it made sense that perhaps you hadn’t yet found the time to properly respond to his letter.
His letter.
The one tucked so carefully into your bag during that train ride home from Oxford.
The one that contained every fragile, terrifying truth that Theo had spent nearly a decade swallowing down.
I love you.
Three little words.
Three devastating little words that had the power to change everything.
So yes, at first, Theo was patient.
Hopeful, even.
When your first owl arrived, his pulse had nearly stopped.
He had torn into the envelope with trembling fingers, his heart lodged somewhere painfully high in his throat.
But instead of acknowledgement, there were updates.
You told him about your orientation at St. Mungo’s. About how wonderful it was to work with Hermione and Padma. About your tiny, charming flat in London.
You included a polaroid of yourself standing outside the hospital in your healer’s robes, smiling brightly enough to make Theo’s chest ache.
He stared at the photograph for entirely too long.
You looked happy.
Radiant, even.
And nowhere in your neatly written letter did you mention his confession.
Not one word.
Still, Theo convinced himself it was fine.
Perhaps you wanted to discuss something so monumental in person. Perhaps you were still processing. Perhaps—
Weeks passed.
Then a month.
And still, nothing.
Your letters kept coming. Frequent, warm, familiar.
Filled with stories of your patients, anecdotes about Pansy’s latest gossip, Draco’s absurd complaints, and Hermione’s endless brilliance.
They were everything your letters had always been. Everything except what Theo so desperately needed them to be. Because no matter how many pages you filled, no matter how many photographs you tucked inside, you never once addressed the letter.
Never acknowledged his love. Never rejected him. Never accepted him.
You simply…avoided it.
And somehow, Theo found that far crueler than an outright refusal.
Silence left too much room for hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope kept him checking every envelope like a fool. Hope made him linger over every line, searching for hidden meaning where there was none.
By the second month, even Theo’s optimism had begun to rot into something uglier.
Doubt.
Perhaps you were trying to spare him embarrassment. Perhaps you valued his friendship too much to wound him directly. Or perhaps, most painfully of all, his confession had changed so little for you that it simply wasn’t worth acknowledging.
That thought hollowed him out in ways he couldn’t properly articulate.
Then came Cedric.
At first, it was innocent enough.
You mentioned him casually.
Cedric helped me with rounds today. Cedric says Professor Fowler was just as terrifying during his program. Cedric brought coffee because I forgot breakfast again.
Theo tried not to think much of it. Tried not to let jealousy, sharp and bitter, worm its way beneath his skin. But then Cedric’s name began appearing more frequently. As though he were steadily craving out a permanent place in your daily life.
Theo noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He noticed every mention. Every casual anecdote. Every seemingly harmless detail. And with each one, something inside him began to splinter.
Because Theo knew you.
Knew the shape of your affection. Knew how seamlessly you wove people into your life when they mattered to you.
By the time your letters began including stories that featured Cedric as often as they featured yourself, Theo no longer needed the words you refused to say.
He understood.
This was your answer.
It wasn’t rejection or cruelty. You were simply…moving forward.
And Theo, despite loving you enough to ruin himself over it, had somehow been left behind.
Rome, once a sanctuary, began to feel more like exile.
His days became consumed by family obligations, estate management, and business dealings with his nonna, but no matter how busy he stayed, the truth remained unchanged.
You had not chosen him.
By the time summer began to fade, Theo stopped reading your letters altogether. Not because he stopped caring. But because he no longer had the strength to pretend there was still something waiting for him between the lines.
Cedric’s presence had stopped feeling like coincidence.
It felt like confirmation.
Something steady and real where Theo had only ever been uncertain longing.
And Theo, for all his arrogance and composure, understood what that meant.
He was too late.
Worse still—
For all his years of loving you, Theo had become far more unbearable than rejected.
He had become irrelevant.
He didn’t tell you any of this.
Instead, he wrote back the way he always had. Carefully. Warmly. As though nothing inside him was collapsing.
As the final weeks in Rome slipped away, Theo began packing earlier than necessary.
Nonna noticed, as she always did, though she said nothing at first. Only watched him with that quiet, knowing gaze that made him feel far too seen.
“You are your mother’s son,” she said softly one evening as he closed his suitcase.
Theo didn’t trust himself to respond.
The morning he left came too quickly.
Rome was bright in a way that felt almost offensive, as though the world had no regard for what he was carrying away from it.
The train station was full of noise and movement, life continuing without pause for anything so insignificant as heartbreak.
Theo stood with his luggage in hand, watching it all with a strange sense of detachment.
There was still time to stay.
Still time to turn back.
Still time to pretend he didn’t already know what awaited him.
But Theo had never been good at pretending for long.
He boarded the train back to London already fearing he knows what awaits him.
Present
May 18, 2003
Ministry of Magic — London, England
You heard about his father’s death the way most things in your life seemed to arrive now. Indirect. Carefully filtered. Like the truth was something people agreed to soften before it reached you.
It started with a whisper in St. Mungo’s corridors. A half-finished sentence between healers. Something about Azkaban. About a name you had not said aloud in nearly a year.
You pretended not to hear it at first. You had always been good at that.
By the time Cedric arrived that evening, the information had already settled in your chest like something heavy and unmovable.
He looked at you like everything was normal. Like nothing in the world had shifted even slightly off axis. He asked how your day had been, kissed your temple, talked about a fundraiser event the Chudley Cannons were hosting and how it would be good for you to come with him.
You agreed because that was what you did now.
You went where you were asked. You smiled when it was appropriate. You fit yourself neatly into the shape of a life that seemed perfect from the outside.
The event was loud in the way all professional Quidditch gatherings were loud. Firewhisky disguised as conversation. Laughter that never quite reached anyone’s eyes. Orange and maroon banners hung proudly from enchanted rafters, far too celebratory for a team still statistically struggling.
Cedric kept you close to his side the entire evening.
It was not unkind. He never was. He introduced you with ease, like a name he was proud to say. His hand rested at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd. People smiled at you both like you belonged together in a way that made perfect sense.
You smiled back because it was easier than correcting them.
At some point, you realized Cedric was good at this. At being seen. At being admired. At placing you neatly beside him like part of the picture.
It was not that he did anything wrong.
It was just that he never seemed to notice when you stopped feeling like a person beneath it all.
Your friends were there too.
Pansy looked immaculate as always, poised near the bar with her drink, sharp eyes surveying the room with elegant disinterest. Blaise and Enzo stood nearby with Draco, who looked as though he regretted attending the event altogether. Mattheo was laughing at something no one else seemed to find remotely amusing.
They greeted you warmly enough.
Warmly, but carefully.
There was space between you now that had not existed a year ago. It wasn’t hostility. It wasn’t even distance exactly. Just something unspoken that none of them ever seemed willing to touch.
When Theo left for Rome, they stopped speaking about him around you.
At first, you understood.
Now, you were no longer certain what exactly they were protecting you from.
Cedric excused himself to speak with someone from the Cannons, and you found yourself standing beside your oldest friends, champagne in hand, watching a conversation that felt oddly as though it were happening behind glass.
Pansy made some cutting remark about Draco’s refusal to be photographed, and Blaise responded immediately, his voice dry as parchment.
“He would rather perish than be captured at a bad angle,” Blaise said, inspecting his glass as though it contained something intellectually stimulating.
Enzo nodded with polite seriousness. “Understandable. Poor framing is a social hazard.”
Mattheo leaned back against the wall, looking faintly amused. “I once knew a man who smiled in an unflattering light. Never recovered socially.”
Pansy glanced at him. “That is not a real consequence.”
Mattheo shrugged. “It was for him.”
Across the bar, Draco finally lifted his eyes from his drink with the slow patience of someone enduring a punishment he had never consented to receive.
“If I must suffer this conversation,” he said evenly, “I would at least prefer it be recognized as a form of community service.”
Enzo brightened. “That is actually quite charitable of you.”
Draco set his glass down with precise care, as though he was considering resorting to violence.
“I will be retiring from this conversation now,” he said. “Indefinitely.”
Enzo smiled. “You say that a lot for someone who keeps returning.”
“Consistency,” Blaise said smoothly, “is a form of commitment.”
Mattheo lifted his drink once more. “And we are deeply committed to you, Draco.”
Draco did not respond. He simply looked away, as though acknowledging them further might encourage their ribbing.
It almost made you smile.
Almost.
Instead, you took another sip of champagne. Slower this time. You had long since lost count of how many glasses you had consumed since arriving.
Cedric was still somewhere behind you, charming and polished and perfectly at ease in a world that seemed eager to accept him without question.
And then the truth settled in properly.
Not just that Theo was back.
But that they had known.
You set your glass down.
Your voice didn’t rise when you spoke, but something in it shifted all the same. “When were you going to tell me?”
The group stilled, eyeing one another.
Your gaze moved between them, sharper now.
“When were you going to tell me Theo was back in London, or were you planning on keeping that from me too?”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even dramatic. It was worse than that.
It was tired. Hurt.
For a moment, no one answered.
Pansy was the first to look away. Blaise exhaled through his nose like he was choosing his words carefully. Enzo looked deeply uncomfortable. Draco muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like guilt.
Mattheo alone held your gaze.
He didn’t look surprised.
That told you everything you needed to know.
Cedric returned just in time to hear the end of it, confusion flickering across his face before he wisely fell silent.
“We didn’t think it was our place,” Enzo said finally, his voice gentle.
“It never is,” you replied, sharper than you intended.
Pansy tilted her head. “We were trying not to overwhelm you,” she said carefully.
“With what?” you scoffed bitterly. “Reality?”
The word landed harder than you meant it to.
Blaise looked at you then, properly. Like he was trying to decide whether you were angry or something worse.
“You’ve been happy,” he said quietly.
The statement nearly made you laugh.
Happy.
Theo’s father had died. Theo had returned to London. Theo was about to go back to the very place that had nearly destroyed him.
And somehow, you had learned it through the Daily Prophet instead of him.
Not a letter. Not a call. Not even a single pathetic owl.
A sharp, aching hurt bloomed beneath your ribs before you could suppress it.
How could he not tell you?
After everything. After years of being the first person he turned to. After endless promises. After for always.
Your anger was sudden and fierce, made all the worse by the grief threaded through it.
Not because his father was dead.
But because Theo had carried something this devastating alone and had decided, somehow, that he no longer trusted you to share the weight of his burdens.
And that realization landed differently than the anger.
Because anger, you realized with sudden devastating clarity, was not the opposite of love.
Indifference was.
And if Theo had truly become irrelevant to you, this would not hurt nearly so much.
You glanced toward Draco.
“Make sure he isn’t alone when he goes back,” you said quietly.
Draco blinked. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
Your throat tightened, but you pressed on anyway. “I don’t care if he fights you on it. I don’t care if he pretends he doesn’t need anyone. Just…be there. Don’t let him be alone in this.”
The group fell silent.
You did not elaborate.
You did not say that despite your anger, despite your confusion, despite the deep hurt of being shut out, the thought of Theo facing Nott Manor alone made something inside you feel unbearably fragile.
Draco’s expression softened, if only slightly.
“Alright,” he said quietly.
The rest of the evening blurred after that.
Cedric remained close, more attentive now, sensing something wrong even if he could not fully understand it.
But his hand at your back felt strangely unfamiliar.
Cedric was steady.
But Theo had never been steady.
Theo had been like fiendfyre.
And perhaps that was precisely why forgetting him had always felt less like healing…
And more like starvation.
Because for the first time in a year, the carefully constructed life you had built around Theo’s absence no longer felt stable.
It felt hollow.
And somewhere beneath the bitterness, beneath the hurt, beneath the unbearable question of why he had not reached for you when he needed you most, one devastating truth remained.
Theo was back.
And whether you were ready for it or not, everything was about to change.
Present
May 19, 2003
Nott Manor — Dorset, England
The letter from Azkaban arrived during the last week of April.
Tiberius Nott died exactly the same way that he lived—cold, alone, and surrounded by nothing but darkness.
The irony was not lost on Theo.
For most of his life, he had imagined this moment in fragments. Sometimes with anger. Sometimes with vindication. Sometimes with a hollow sort of hope that perhaps death would finally sever the invisible chain his father had kept wound so tightly around his throat.
But as Theo stood in the grand foyer of Nott Manor, parchment still clutched tightly in his hand, he felt none of the catharsis he once imagined.
No grief clawed its way through him. No rage consumed him. No relief softened the jagged edges of old wounds.
There was only numbness.
A quiet, deeply unsettling emptiness settled heavily in his chest, as though his heart had simply decided that after years of enduring Tiberius Nott, this final cruelty was not even worth reacting to.
Perhaps that should have disturbed him more than it did.
But Theo had long since learned that survival often demanded a certain degree of emotional detachment.
His father had never been a man easily mourned.
Tiberius Nott had never tucked him into bed. Never offered comfort. Never showed him kindness or safety or warmth. He had taught Theo discipline through bruises, obedience through fear, and legacy through violence.
To Tiberius, Theo had never truly been a son.
He had been an heir. A vessel. A means of preserving bloodlines and family prestige.
And Theo had spent the better part of his youth trying desperately not to drown beneath the impossible expectations of a man who seemed determined to destroy every soft part of him.
So no, Theo did not mourn.
Not really.
If anything, returning to Nott Manor felt less like grieving and more like walking back into the mouth of something ancient and starved.
The estate remained exactly as he remembered. Towering iron gates. Endless stone corridors. Portraits lined with generations of severe faces that seemed to sneer down at him with familiar condemnation.
Even the air felt wrong. Thick with dust, dark magic, and memories Theo had spent years trying to outrun.
His footsteps echoed sharply through the entrance hall as house elves quietly resumed their duties, careful not to meet his gaze for too long.
He hated how little had changed.
Or perhaps he hated how easily this place threatened to pull him back into the frightened boy he used to be.
For one brief, horrible moment, Theo was sixteen again.
Bruised knuckles. Shaking hands. A hastily packed suitcase hidden beneath his bed.
And you.
Always you.
Standing at the gates with your wand raised and your voice trembling not with fear, but fury.
“Theo is coming with me. If you try to stop us, I will kill you.”
Theo closed his eyes.
Even now, years later, he could still hear it as clearly as if you were standing beside him.
That had been the day everything changed.
The day you became more than his best friend. More than his sanctuary.
You had become his salvation.
And now, standing once more beneath the same roof that had nearly broken him, the old ache returned sharper than ever.
Not because of his father.
But because despite everything, despite letters unsent and oceans placed between you, some deeply buried part of Theo had still wanted to reach for you the moment the letter arrived.
He wanted to tell you.
Because grief, it seemed, still instinctively reached for the same place his heart always had.
You.
He wanted your voice, your comfort, your impossible ability to make even his darkest moments feel survivable.
Bet he had forfeited that right long ago.
So instead, he grieved in silence.
Alone.
Exactly as he had taught himself to survive.
A sharp rap against the front doors pulled Theo from his thoughts.
He barely had time to compose himself before the heavy doors swung open and Draco Malfoy strode inside with all the effortless arrogance Theo had come to expect.
Draco looked immaculate, naturally. Tailored robes, polished dragonhide shoes, and an expression that somehow balanced sympathy with his usual insufferable superiority.
“Salazar,” Draco drawled, his silver gaze sweeping over the dim foyer. “This place is somehow even more depressing than I remember.”
Theo huffed out something dangerously close to a laugh. “Thank you, Draco. Your condolences are deeply moving.”
Draco’s lips twitched. “Condolences imply grief. Given the circumstances, I thought honesty might be more appropriate.”
Theo folded the Azkaban letter neatly and tucked it into his coat pocket.
“How thoughtful of you.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable, but familiar. The kind built from years of friendship forged in shared trauma, mutual understanding, and a collective aversion to genuine emotional vulnerability.
Truthfully, he felt like a ghost wandering the ruins of his own childhood.
But honesty had never come naturally to him.
“Burial arrangements and legal paperwork are proving significantly more exhausting than the man himself ever was.”
Draco gave a short nod, accepting the deflection for what it was.
“Well,” he said smoothly, “while you are busy inheriting centuries of generational dysfunction, Mother asked me to formally remind you about the annual charity gala.”
Theo blinked. “Of course she did.”
Draco sighed, long-suffering. “She claims your absence last year was understandable. This year, however, you are apparently out of excuses.”
Theo arched a brow. “And what precisely makes Narcissa think I’m in the mood for champagne, Ministry officials, and performative philanthropy?"
Draco smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s my birthday.”
Theo stared at him flatly. “You are an appalling human being.”
“And yet,” Draco replied smoothly, “You continue to indulge me.”
Theo rolled his eyes, though the familiar banter chipped away, however slightly, at the suffocating heaviness pressing down on him.
For the first time since returning, Nott Manor felt marginally less unbearable.
Not because the ghosts had vanished.
But because Draco, in his own insufferable way, reminded Theo that there was still life waiting for him beyond these walls.
London.
His friends.
You.
Though that final thought felt far more dangerous than comforting.
Theo’s jaw tightened slightly.
Because if word had already spread, then there was every possibility that by now, you knew he was back.
And perhaps worse, you knew he had not come to you.
The thought sat bitterly in his chest. Not because he regretted protecting himself. But because no matter how much distance he placed between you, hurting you had never once been part of the plan.
Theo glanced toward the sweeping staircase, toward the shadows of the home that had shaped so much of his suffering.
Then, with quiet resignation, he exhaled.
“I suppose,” he said at last, “one evening of shallow aristocratic nonsense is survivable.”
Draco smirked victoriously. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”
“That settles it then,” Draco added casually, as though it were an afterthought, “you’re staying at Malfoy Manor.”
Theo paused mid-step. “I’m not.”
Draco raised a brow, utterly unbothered. “You are.”
“I have a house.”
“A house you just inherited from a dead man you loathe. Be serious, Theo.”
Theo opened his mouth to refuse again, something polite but firm already forming on his tongue.
Draco cut him off without looking away. “Mother would be cross if you turned us down.”
Theo hesitated.
Because Narcissa Malfoy being cross was never truly about displeasure. It was about care disguised as expectation, delivered with precision sharp enough to feel like affection.
Clearly, Draco inherited it from her.
He exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders in a way he didn’t entirely allow himself to acknowledge.
“...Fine,” he said quietly.
Draco looked mildly satisfied. “Good. I would hate to have to explain to her that you chose this gothic nightmare over a clean bed and adequate food.”
Theo let out a short breath that almost became a laugh. “How noble of you.”
Draco shrugged. “I’m practically a saint.”
Theo shook his head, but followed nonetheless.
Because for better or worse, London was waiting.
With all its ghosts. With old friends who knew too much. With wounds that had never properly healed.
And somewhere within it all, there was you.
Not the memory he had spent the last year carefully preserving from a safe distance. Not the version of you immortalized in unsent letters and half-drunk confessions. But you as you were now. Real. Changed. Possibly furious. Possibly indifferent.
The thought was far more terrifying than Nott Manor had ever been.
For the first time in years, Theo found himself preparing not to bury the past, but to face it.
And perhaps that was the true horror of returning home—
Not the manor.
Not his father’s ghost.
But the terrifying possibility that the one person he had always loved might now look at him and see nothing at all.
Summary: You insist on spending the night at the library even though you just got done with the O.W.Ls, with a promise to your boyfriend to join him in a couple of hours. However, when you don't show up, Theodore makes a trip to the library, and what he finds makes him fall to his knees.
Warnings: The Italian here was written from Google Translate, so I'm so sorry if it's wrong. If you speak Italian, feel free to correct me in the comments, and I will fix it. FLUFF! Theo is smitten with the reader! slight ooc Theo, but in a good way.
a/n: IK i promised an az x reader smut, but this idea js wouldn't leave my brain so I had to make it happen.
divider by @uzmacchiato
The common room is mostly empty except for you, Theo, Mattheo, and Daphne sitting around the fire. Lorenzo, Blaise, Pansy, and Astoria had bid farewell a couple of hours ago for bed, while the remainder of you stayed downstairs for a quick natter.
Theo listened while Mattheo droned on about Slughorn for the thousandth time, while one of his hands played with your hair. The two of you sat on the couch directly in front of the fireplace under a blanket, while Mattheo and Daphne took the armchairs to one side of the couch.
“I swear this old man has it out for me!” Mattheo complained exasperatedly.
Daphne snorted. “You think everyone has it out for you, Mattheo.”
You chuckled in response, and Daphne donned a proud smile when Mattheo gaped in offence.
“If he doesn’t have it out for me, then tell me why he would give me a 0 on my O.W.Ls when I said you stir the potion for three and a half turns after adding monkwood powder to the Alihosty draught!” he retorted, crossing his arms defiantly. “I was off by half a turn!”
“Maybe because after adding the Sopophorous bean, you’d make the cauldron explode. You need the monkwood to be fully dissolved to neutralise the bean a bit,” Theo responded coolly.
Mattheo huffed. “He could have just rounded up,” he grumbled. “I failed the test because of that.”
Daphne chuckled but rubbed his arm affectionately, trying to console him as best as she could since he was genuinely very upset about the situation. While the two of them got busy talking amongst themselves about the topic, Theo turned his attention to you.
“So…my dorm tonight?” Theo murmured seductively in your ear.
While you were nowhere close to new at what Theo was insinuating, having spent countless nights tangled under the sheets as he moved in and out of you and having seen each other in every state of undress possible, the implication makes a flush rise to your cheeks regardless.
You lightly swat his chest. “Theodore,” you reprimand gently.
Theo chuckles as his hand comes up to hold yours that just swatted his chest and brings it to his lips. Mattheo pauses his whining and smirks in your direction, eyes full of fondness at seeing his best friends so smitten with each other.
“Is that a yes, amorina?” he kisses your temple.
You hesitate, looking down at your hands. “I can’t tonight.”
Theo furrows his brows, pulling back a little to look at you properly. “Why not?”
“I want to go to the library,” you excuse.
He looks at you, confused. “The library? Why?”
You scramble to think of a response. “I have some...studying to catch up on.”
“What studying? We just got done with the O.W.Ls,” Theo responds, eyeing you suspiciously. “What’s going on, amorina?” he softens his voice, petting your hair. “I won’t get upset if that’s what you’re worried about.”
You intertwine your fingers with his other hand and bring it up to your lips. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Theo. I just wanna go to the library tonight, read for a couple of hours. That’s all,” you say as convinvigly as possible.
Theo still looks suspicious but nods. “Alright,” he murmurs with a tinge of sadness in his voice.
You look at him sympathetically. “How about this-” you squeeze his hand comfortingly. “I go to the library for a couple of hours and then come to your dorm?” you offer as a compromise.
His face immediately lights up, and he nods. “Yes! That works.”
You press a kiss to his cheek, and he reciprocates.
Later, when Mattheo, Daphne, and Theo head to bed, you sneak out of the dorms to the library. It is dark and quiet when you arrive, and you have to use your wand to navigate in there. You head to the back of the languages section, pulling out the Italian to English dictionary you had shoved in the back of the books just in case someone else tried to take it. You took a seat at one of the tables and pulled out your notebook with notes you had been taking.
So far, you have taught yourself to count to one hundred in Italian and are now working on sentence structures and grammar, as you pick up more words on the way. Since you planned to reveal this surprise to Theo on his birthday on May 16, you focus on what you plan to say to him, for now.
For the next few hours, you lose yourself in constructing your little monologue about how much you love and appreciate Theo and how grateful you are that you get to share your life with him. Without realising, you lose track of time.
Theo’s POV
It is 4 AM, and you promised Theo that you’d be back from the library in a couple of hours. That was nearly 5 hours ago, and still, there was no sign of you. He knows you haven’t come back for sure because he has been lying awake, anticipating your quiet, graceful footsteps to dawn on his doorstep and your arms wrapping around him from behind. When none of that happened, Theo got concerned and got out of bed.
You were likely still at the library, and he knew your tendency to lose track of time when you were immersed in a book.
Quietly, he pads out of bed, puts on his robe, then sneaks out of the dorms and towards the library, narrowly avoiding Mrs Norris prowling near the potions classroom in the dungeons. Using Lumos, Theo navigates the library in search of you and finds you seated in the back. There are multiple books sprawled in front of you, and you are scribbling away in a little notebook before you.
Theo hides behind a shelf and watches for a minute to figure out what you are doing, since this most definitely does not look like reading. He watches as you continue to write for a few more seconds and almost approaches you before your voice stops him.
It's faint, and it's broken, but it's undeniably there.
“S-Sono grato…di poter con…con-dividere la mia vita…” You speak to yourself in broken Italian.
Theo’s eyes widen as his heart stutters in his chest, eyes immediately welling with tears as realisation dawns on him of what you are doing. You were teaching yourself Italian for him. Because you know he misses speaking his mother tongue. His heart couldn’t possibly get more full as he continues to listen to you speak in Italian. It's very broken, and the pronunciation is way off, but you’re trying, oh, you’re so determinedly trying, and he wants to sob his heart out and hug you and kiss you and marry you and never let you go. His sweet, beautiful girl is going through all this effort just for him.
Without realising, the tears slide down his cheeks. He quickly wipes them away and walks towards you slowly to avoid startling you. However, you are so focused that you don’t realise he’s walking your way, still trying to complete the sentence.
“Y/n…” Theo whispers your name.
You gasp and look up with wide eyes, immediately covering the books with your hands.
“Theo! What are you doing here?” you question. “I told you I’d be back in a couple of hours.”
“That was 5 hours ago, amore,” he whispers, unable to keep the love out of his voice, the devotion out of his eyes, and the affection out of his touch as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Oh,” your face falls. “I-I didn’t realise it had been that long.”
“You’re teaching yourself Italian,” Theo blurts.
“W-what?” you sputter, standing up and closing the notebook you were scribbling in. “No, I’m not.”
Theo rounds the table and comes to stand at your side. “I heard you.”
You look at him in surprise, and immediately, a sheepish and embarrassed expression overtakes your face as you sigh in defeat. “I wanted to surprise you for your birthday,” you explain quietly while looking at the notebook in your hand.
Theo looks at you in disbelief before he falls to his knees in front of you, and your eyes widen. His hands settle on your hips as he looks up at you like a devotee. His eyes are welled with tears, his grip slightly shaky, but nothing short of reverence in either.
“Ti amo tanto, amore mio,” he whispers shakily. “I don’t deserve you and everything that you are, my beautiful girl. I can’t begin to explain how grateful I am to have you in my life and how much I appreciate that you’re putting in all this work for me.”
You set the notebook aside, taking his hands in yours as you kneel in front of him, now at eye level with him.
“Ti amo, tantissimo, anch’io, Theo,” you reply, resting your forehead against his and gently wiping away the fallen tears. “This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg of all the things I’d do for you,” you smile softly.
Theo sniffles, cupping your face and pressing soft kisses all over: your forehead, chin, nose, cheeks, eyelids, brows, anywhere and everywhere. “I promise to make you so happy, amore. I promise to do as much for you as you do for me. I promise I will always cherish you.”
You smile, closing your eyes as you allow him to continue pressing kisses all over your face. “You already make me the happiest, darling,” you respond softly.
Theo stops pressing kisses and rests his forehead against yours, still holding your face, and stays that way for a minute before pulling back slightly to look at you. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before murmuring, “Can I see?”
You hesitate for a second but nod, sliding the notebook off the table and handing it to him.
You stand beside him nervously while Theo flips through the pages filled with notes. Pages and pages of you trying to construct sentences, trying to write out long numbers, trying to get the spellings right, and you keeping a tab of all the new words you’ve learned. Some of the words are marked with a star and brackets: ‘Theo used this’.
Eventually, he gets to the page with the mini monologue, and your nervousness spikes, not only because it was supposed to be a surprise but also because it was quite advanced compared to your level, so you knew you had messed up multiple times.
“I was working on fixing that,” you say quietly before Theo can remark.
He gets overwhelmed with emotion once again and can’t help but pull you in for a long, desperate, loving kiss. “It's beautiful, cara mia. And for the record, I am also grateful to share my life with you,” he kisses your forehead.
Since that night, you have been practising Italian with Theo every day. Your accent is still off, and you still make some grammatical errors, but Theo can see you’re trying incredibly hard, and he’s still struggling to perceive how someone would be willing to go through all this effort for him. Also, you sound incredibly hot while speaking Italian, and he can barely keep his hands off you while practising, constantly reaching out to kiss you, touch you in some way, and rewarding you later in the night for doing so well.
Contains: smut, biting, small mention of blood, no mention of yn (only refered to reader as she/her/etc), drabble, kinda sub!theo, reader is hot (obviously)
a/n: First time acc writing smut since i was like 12 im so embarrassed omfg
Word count: 857
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The only sound clouding the room was soft pants and moans coming from the pair on the bed– the slap coming from the skin to skin was enough to keep both Nott and the girl present in the moment, her hips jolting against his as her puffy lips swallowed entirely his flushed member, the tip hitting the deep, jelly part inside of her before going back and hitting it once again.
“Ah, Theo,” the girl whimpered, feeling the way his rough hands made their way across her abdomen all the way to her chest, holding her and rubbing his thumbs over her hard buds. He grinned at her soft noise, a breathy laugh leaving his bruised lips as he bucked his hips up as well.
“So beautiful,” The Slytherin moaned, his baby blue but heavy gaze having strolled over her figure above his. “So perfect.”
She smiled at his comments, more breathless whimpers leaving her glossy lips as both her hands went above his– directing the movement he was to follow. His head fell backwards against his puffy pillow, driplets of sweat forming right next to his Adam’s apple being visible due to the moonlight gently falling over them.
The girl shivered– not only due to the intercourse, but at the feeling of the light washing over her like a warm shower, something that gave her energy back. A low groan came from her this time, different from the soft pants and moans that had followed her before. The brunette heard her as clear as day, and smirked at her as his hands made their way back onto her hips and, at a faster pace, pulled her in and out of him.
It was becoming too much for her.
Not only him, but the way she felt the way her canine teeth grew pointed at the feeling of the moon on her back, the way she bit down her lip trying to conceal her pleasure, mixed with the sudden urge she had to bite him. Merlin, he looked so good like this.
He would look even better with a bite on his neck.
Her restraint broke the moment Theodore looked up at her, eyes narrowed as they were filled with pleas and a sense of vulnerability. One of his hands left her hips before going to shuffle his already messy hair, small strands of his waves sticking to his forehead with the sweat he produced.
She kept on bouncing, a louder moan leaving her mouth this time, Nott’s eyes never leaving her as he gave her a satisfied look. Both her hands gently placed themselves against the Italian’s chest, hard muscle being the only thing she felt as her bouncy chest pressed against his. Theodore’s head followed her, trying to kiss her before she quickly stuck her head in the crook of his neck, giggling between whimpers at his failed attempt.
“Baby,” she whispered into his earlobe. The man shivered.
An evilish smile crept onto the girl’s lips. Just a little bit, she thought.
Small butterfly kisses were gently placed on Nott’s neck, him shoving his head the other way to give her more space to work with. She went over the love bites she had tainted onto his pale skin before, before beginning to suck in softly right on the slope connecting his neck to his shoulders.
“Cazzo,” he moaned, both hands gripping tighter onto her ass as she left her mark on him once again, a routine he loved.
Her eyes closed as she finished the hickey, before looking right where she had left it. Perfect.
Her lips separated only a bit from the mark before going right back at it to attack. Only that with her teeth this time.
Theodore reacted immediately, his body stiffening deliciously at the feeling stinging right at his sensitive neck as he thrusted the girl onto him, sloppier than before.
Only a bit more.
Her sharp fangs began poking at his skin with enough pressure to send a weird pulse of pleasure through him, quickly gaining chills at the feeling.
Merlin, it felt so good. She had to stop soon; she couldn’t possibly take advantage of Theo in such a moment, could she?
Her pretty mind thought for less than a second. Just the tips.
With a shaky exhale, she dug her fangs deeper, finally piercing through his soft skin as a beautiful noise filled her ears, only driving her even further.
“Bella,” Theodore moaned, significantly louder than before. His eyes closed shut immediately at the burning feeling, his instinct only thrusting himself deeper onto the girl, his movements looser and clumsier than before. He felt weaker.
She had already begun sucking out blood, only a little bit, she told herself, as the red, thick liquid filling her lips worked like caffeine on her body.
She was now the one thrusting into him faster, Theodore’s hands barely hanging by her hips as he let out small Italian curses and praise under his breath, feeling closer to ecstasy as his climax got closer by the second.
He swore that she must have just been more dominant tonight, nothing else.
