Theo’s arm is draped over my waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles along my hip beneath the blanket. My cheek is pressed against his chest, listening to the slow thud of his heartbeat, steady and warm like the rest of him. His skin smells faintly like smoke and soap, and the cotton of his shirt is soft from too many washes. I could lie here forever and never get tired of it.
The room is quiet. Every now and then the castle creaks, old stone and wood shifting in the dark, and somewhere far off there’s the faint drip of water echoing along the corridors. The curtains around his bed shut out most of the light, turning everything into a dim cocoon of navy and shadow. The only glow comes from a single enchanted candle on his bedside table, flickering low and gold. It makes everything feel distant, like the whole world’s outside these curtains and can’t reach us here.
We’re wrapped up together in his bed, legs tangled, the blankets twisted around our ankles. The mattress dips toward the middle, pulling me closer to him every time I shift, like it’s conspiring to keep us pressed together. His chest rises and falls under my ear in an easy, sleepy rhythm that makes my own breathing slow to match.
I let out a soft laugh that comes out muffled against his shirt, a tiny bubble of joy I can’t quite hold in.
“What?” Theo murmurs, his voice low and rough with sleep. I feel the vibration of it under my cheek more than I hear it, and it sends a little shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold.
“Nothing,” I say, still grinning. I can’t seem to stop smiling around him. “I was just thinking about Snape today. When he slipped on that spilled shrivelfig juice and still tried to act like it was our fault.”
Theo huffs out a laugh, the sound warm and quiet, like he’s trying not to wake the rest of the castle.
“You saw the way his hair flopped?” he says. “For a second I thought he was going to combust.”
I pull back a little so I can see his face. I miss the warmth of his chest instantly, but I want to see the way his eyes light up when he’s amused.
“I swear he stared me down like I’d pushed him,” I say. “I was nowhere near the juice.”
“You don’t need to be.” He smirks, eyes half-lidded, amused. “You just exist and it pisses him off.”
I laugh again, fuller this time, my chest shaking against his. It feels so easy to laugh with him. Theo smiles at me, one of those soft, drowsy smiles he only ever lets out when it’s just us and the curtains are closed. Seeing it makes something warm bloom in my chest.
His fingers find a strand of my hair and start twisting it absently, letting it slide through his hand again and again. I love when he does that. It makes me feel like he can’t quite stop touching me, like he needs that small proof I’m real.
“You’re warm,” he mumbles, the words barely formed.
“Good,” I say, burrowing closer into his chest until my nose presses against the hollow of his throat. I breathe him in, greedy for the comfort of it. “You always act like I’m a human furnace, but you never push me away.”
“That’s ’cause I’d rather overheat and die than not have you next to me,” he replies, completely serious.
I pull back slightly, lifting an eyebrow, even though my heart stutters at the honesty in his voice. “Romantic.”
He grins and tugs me back in, pressing a slow kiss to the top of my head.
“You know what I mean,” he says against my hair.
I do. I feel it in the way he holds me, in every small touch. It settles inside me, warm and certain.
We fall quiet for a while. It’s not the awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that settles over us like another blanket. I don’t feel the need to fill it, and that in itself feels like a luxury. His hand moves lazily through my hair, nails lightly scratching my scalp, then drifts down the curve of my spine in slow, thoughtless lines that make my muscles loosen one by one.
“Remember when we brewed Amortentia in Slughorn’s class?” I ask softly, my voice half swallowed by his shirt. The memory’s been floating at the edge of my mind all day.
Theo lets out a small laugh, chest shaking under my cheek. “Yeah.”
“I was terrified someone would smell you on me and know.” The confession slips out before I can second-guess it.
He tilts his head a little so he can look down at me, eyes curious. “You smelt me?”
I nod against his chest, suddenly a little shy, even though he’s already here, already holding me. “Tobacco and parchment. And that weird cedarwood scent you only have after Quidditch.” I’ve never said it out loud before, how closely I pay attention.
He exhales through his nose, a little stunned.
“That’s exactly what you smelt like too,” he says slowly. “Well, and ink. You always smell like ink.”
I smile into his shirt, my lips brushing the fabric. Of course I do. “What a weird love potion. Tells everyone your business.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone, his touch featherlight. My skin tingles where he traces it. “Everyone already knows I’m obsessed with you.”
I look up at him again. His expression has changed. It’s softer now, something open and unguarded shining in his eyes. They look a little glassy, like he’s thinking too hard and feeling too much at once, and my heart starts beating faster in my chest, like it knows what’s coming before I do.
“What?” I ask quietly, my voice suddenly small in the hush around us.
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze moves over my face like he’s trying to memorize every line and freckle, from my hairline to my mouth. I hold perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe.
“I love you,” Theo says, voice barely above a whisper.
Time seems to stutter. For a second everything narrows to the sound of his heartbeat in my ear and those three words hanging between us, fragile and unbelievably real. I’ve imagined him saying them before, in a dozen different ways, but none of those daydreams feel as sharp and bright as this.
I blink up at him, my chest tight and full at the same time, like my ribs can’t possibly contain everything rushing through me. “I love you too.”
There’s no hesitation. No fear. No second-guessing. Just truth. It feels like something slipping into place that was always meant to be there.
He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for weeks. His shoulders relax beneath me and some invisible tension I didn’t notice before melts out of the air.
I kiss him gently, our lips brushing in a soft, unhurried press, and my whole body feels light and anchored all at once. Then I curl back into his side. His arms come around me again, tighter this time, like he’s afraid if he loosens his grip even a little I’ll slip away through his fingers. I have no intention of going anywhere.
We lie there in silence, but it’s the kind that hums under the surface, full of everything we don’t need to say out loud. His fingers draw lazy paths along my spine, sometimes pausing to splay across my back like he’s making sure I’m really there. Each touch says what he doesn’t put into words.
“I don’t want to move,” I murmur. The thought of leaving this bed, this warmth, this moment, feels impossible.
“Then don’t,” he says, lips brushing my hair.
“Even if your arm falls asleep?”
“It already has,” he admits, laughing softly as he presses a kiss to my temple. “And I honestly couldn’t care less.”
I smile again, my eyes growing heavy. His heartbeat is steady in my ear. His scent fills my lungs. His fingers are gentle in my hair, carding through it in slow, soothing strokes. For the first time in a long while, I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop.
We fall asleep like that, together, wrapped in quiet, honest love, and for once, everything feels exactly as it should.
I reach for a piece of toast just as Theo finishes buttering his own. The plate between us is crowded with toast and half-smeared butter, crumbs already gathering near my elbow. His thigh is pressed against mine under the table, warm and familiar, but his silence this morning feels wrong. Colder. Like he’s here but holding himself just out of reach.
I tell myself I’m imagining it. That he’s just tired, just distracted, just Theo being Theo. Still, the quiet presses on my skin.
“Did you finish that essay for Binns?” Enzo asks around a mouthful of eggs, his words coming out a bit garbled.
“Barely,” I answer, lifting my tea and blowing on the surface before I sip. The cup feels too hot against my fingers. “I fell asleep halfway through it.”
Theo turns his head toward me. “You did?”
His tone is light enough that anyone else at the table would think nothing of it, but his eyes narrow just slightly, that familiar crease appearing between his brows. I know that look way too well. It’s the one he gets when he’s already decided something’s off and he’s just waiting for me to confirm it.
My stomach gives a small twist. I hate that look. I hate feeling like I’m already guilty and I don’t even know what of.
“I mean, I finished it,” I clarify quickly, setting my cup down a little too fast. The tea sloshes against the porcelain. “I just… barely made the word count.”
“Mh.” He looks back down at his plate, stabbing a sausage with more force than necessary. “You’ve been tired a lot lately.”
There it is again. That quiet accusation tucked inside casual words. I can feel my shoulders tensing up.
“I guess I have,” I say, trying to laugh it off like it’s nothing, like I’m not suddenly hyperaware of everyone within earshot. “It’s that time of the year.”
“Yeah,” Pansy says, pushing her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I feel like I haven’t slept since second year.”
“I told you to try Dreamless Sleep,” Blaise says lazily, leaning back as he sips his coffee. “Changed my life.”
Theo turns to me again, his jaw working as if he’s biting back something. My pulse kicks up a notch. I can tell he’s about to go there, wherever “there” is in his head that I never quite get to see.
“Did you even go to bed at a decent hour last night?” he asks, quiet but sharp.
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden edge in his voice. A prickle runs down my spine. His fingers drum once on the table, then go still, like he’s decided something about my answer before I even give it.
“I… I think so. I was reading.”
His silence makes the words sound flimsy, like an excuse.
“You said you were going to sleep early.”
There’s no room in his voice for the part where I actually tried. For the way my thoughts wouldn’t shut up. For the way the ceiling looked in the dark while everyone else breathed evenly around me.
“I tried,” I say gently, lowering my eyes to my plate. Shame creeps up before I can stop it, even though I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong. I can feel the air at the table shift, the attention of the group tilting our way. Spoons pause mid-stir. Someone’s knife squeaks against a plate.
I hate that too. The way an ordinary morning can suddenly feel like a stage.
Mattheo arches a brow but says nothing, watching us over the rim of his mug. Draco takes a slow, deliberate bite of his toast, pretending to be more interested in the marmalade than he actually is. I can feel their curiosity, their caution, like a low buzz in the background.
Theo leans back, his arm sliding along the bench behind me so that his hand almost brushes my shoulder. The gesture looks casual to anyone else, but there’s a stiffness in his posture that gives him away. I feel trapped between the warmth of his body and the chill sitting in my chest.
“You need to get better about actually doing what you say you’re going to do,” he says, voice low but pointed.
The words land heavier than they probably should. It’s not just about going to bed on time. It never is. It feels like a quiet tally being kept somewhere, a list of tiny failures I hadn’t realized he was collecting.
The silence that follows is thick and awkward, the kind that stretches too long for this early in the morning. Heat creeps up the back of my neck. I stare at the crumbs on my plate as if they might somehow answer for me, as if if I just stay very still, this will all blow over.
A part of me wants to snap back, to say that I’m trying, that I’m tired for reasons even I don’t fully understand. Another part just wants him to soften again, to smile and brush it off so I can unclench my jaw and remember what it feels like not to be examined.
Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.
“I’m just tired,” Theo says suddenly, his voice softening with a small sigh. “Ignore me.”
I nod automatically, even though my chest feels tight and uncomfortable, like there’s a hand pressing against my ribs from the inside. I know I’m not supposed to take it personally, but I already have. The words are lodged there, replaying.
The group slowly resumes conversation, though it’s quieter than before, like everyone’s wary of stepping too hard on thin ice. Pansy murmurs something to Blaise about an assignment, and Enzo starts complaining about Quidditch practice. The noise rises again, filling the space, but there’s still a faint tension humming under it.
“Okay,” Draco says, biting into his apple without looking up, as if that’s his way of acknowledging what just happened and then choosing to move on. I wish I could move on that easily.
Theo turns to me again, his eyes skimming over my face in that intense way he has, searching for something I can never quite name. I sit there under his gaze, trying not to squirm, knowing he’s seeing things I don’t even realize I’m giving away. He lingers on the shadows under my eyes, then on my mouth.
I suddenly feel like I’ve done something wrong with my own face.
“Did you wear that jumper yesterday?” he asks.
I look down at my forest green knit jumper, smoothing a wrinkle at the hem just to have something to do with my hands. “No… I wore the grey one.”
“Right,” he says, giving a small nod as if confirming some private thought I’m not invited into. “You should wear the grey one more. It suits you better.”
His gaze drops to the neckline of my jumper, then back to my face. There’s no smile, just calm assessment. I feel like I’ve been graded and come up slightly short.
I force a smile anyway because that’s easier than asking what he really means. “Okay.”
He shifts closer, the press of his thigh against mine becoming firmer, more deliberate. This time it feels less like comfort and more like a reminder. Then he dips his head and kisses my forehead, soft and sudden, his lips lingering for a heartbeat longer than usual.
“Sei ancora la mia ragazza preferita, lo sai,” he murmurs so only I can hear, his breath warm against my skin.
You’re still my favorite girl, you know.
My smile falters for half a second. Just enough that I feel it, that tiny crack in my reaction. Favorite. The word curls around my ribs in a way that’s both sweet and a little suffocating. There’s a softness in his voice, but something edged in it too, a quiet reminder that I belong to him, that he’s watching, that he notices even my sleep schedule and my jumper choices.
I’m not sure when that started feeling less like devotion and more like surveillance.
He pulls back just far enough to look at me again, his eyes dark and intent.
“Non farmi preoccupare così, amore,” he adds, his thumb brushing the side of my knee under the table.
Don’t make me worry like this, love.
The words are tender on the surface, but they sink into me like another rule. Don’t make him worry. Don’t make him upset. Don’t give him a reason to look at me like that again. I nod and return the kiss to his cheek, my lips barely grazing the stubble along his jaw.
“And you’re mine,” I say.
The words slip out automatically, like a line in a script I’ve rehearsed a thousand times. A part of me means them. Another part wonders when they started sounding more like reassurance for him than a promise from me.
He gives a small, satisfied sound at that, something between a hum and a chuckle, and turns away to join the conversation again, laughing at something Enzo says about their last match. His arm stays along the back of the bench behind me, his fingers occasionally brushing my shoulder like a silent claim.
I wrap both hands around my mug and stare into my tea, stirring it in slow circles. The amber liquid swirls and catches the light, but the warmth doesn’t quite reach my fingertips the way it used to. My chest feels hollow and crowded at the same time.
Maybe I really am just tired. Maybe that’s all this is. I tell myself that even as something small and uneasy curls up in the back of my mind.
“Brava ragazza,” Theo says absently when I finally take a bite of toast, not even looking at me.
The words used to make me feel safe, wrapped up and protected and chosen. Now they just sit in the space between us like another weight added to the pile. Another reminder that being “good” is something I’m supposed to keep proving.
As his laughter blends with the easy chatter around us, I keep my eyes on the spinning tea and try to remember when his warmth stopped feeling like comfort and started feeling like something I had to earn.
I can’t quite find the moment, but I can feel the difference. And that scares me more than I want to admit.
I laugh at something Adrian Pucey says. It’s nothing major, just a stupid memory from third year about getting caught sneaking chocolate frogs during Transfiguration. I remember how hard I tried not to laugh when McGonagall glared at us, and it tugs a real smile out of me now, before I can stop it.
He’s got a drink in hand, slouched casually against the wall, his tie loosened, eyes half-lidded from the firewhisky someone spiked into the punch. He looks relaxed, unbothered, like this is all just fun to him. It feels harmless. Familiar. I don’t even think about how it might look from the outside.
Across the room, I catch Theo watching.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
My stomach dips. I know that look. He only smiles like that when something’s already gotten under his skin and he’s trying not to show it. Guilt prickles at the back of my neck before he even moves, even though I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.
A few seconds later, he weaves through the crowd, cuts between two laughing fifth-years, and grips my wrist gently but firmly.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?” he says, not waiting for an answer before pulling me toward the corridor outside the common room.
My heart starts to beat a little faster. He never waits when he’s like this. It’s not anger, not really, just that tense, coiled energy that always makes me feel like I’ve stepped somewhere I shouldn’t have without realizing.
The music fades behind us, replaced by the echo of footsteps and the quiet hum of torches. The air is cooler out here, and it smells faintly of stone and old smoke. The quiet feels sharp after the noise inside, like it’s cutting straight through my buzz.
I blink up at him. “What’s wrong?” I already know this isn’t nothing, but I’m still hoping I’m imagining the edge in his eyes.
“Adrian?” he says, arching a brow. “Really?”
My chest tightens. I frown, instinctively defensive even though I don’t want this to turn into a fight. “What do you mean?”
The word stings. It makes it sound like I did it on purpose, like I wanted Adrian’s attention. I feel my cheeks heat, a mix of irritation and hurt. “It was literally just a conversation.”
“About what?” Theo asks, his arms now crossed. His tone isn’t sharp, not yet, but it’s tense, pulled tight like a bowstring. I can feel him bracing for an answer he’s already decided he won’t like.
“Nothing important,” I say, trying to keep it light. I don’t want to snap, don’t want to add fuel to something that already feels like it’s smoldering. “He was just being stupid, joking about something from third year.” I hear myself trailing off and it sounds weak in my own ears.
“So you just forgot to mention you’ve been catching up with him lately?”
I blink, genuinely confused now. That twisting feeling in my stomach sharpens. “What are you talking about? We just started talking tonight, Theo.”
He scoffs under his breath. “Right. Just tonight.”
The way he says it makes my chest go a little cold. Like he doesn’t believe me. Like my word isn’t enough.
“Theo,” I say gently, trying to meet his eyes. I want him to see that I mean it, that there’s nothing else happening here. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah. I do,” he says too quickly. Then, with a small shake of his head, “But it’s not about that.”
My throat tightens. If it’s not about that, then what is it about? The insecurity threads through my ribs before I can stop it. “Then what is it about?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of me again. His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid. He looks like he’s trying to hold himself together, keep the words from coming out too harsh.
“I just don’t get why you’d entertain him. He’s been into you for years. Everyone knows it.”
I feel a flicker of frustration push through the unease. “That was before we were even a thing,” I reply, folding my arms too, mirroring him without meaning to. “It didn’t mean anything then, and it definitely doesn’t now.” I’m telling the truth, but it bothers me that I have to explain it at all.
“You say that, but you were laughing with him like he’s your best mate.”
The unfairness of it hits me all at once. “I was being polite, Theo.” I take a breath, trying to steady myself so I don’t snap. “You’re being… weird about this.” My chest hurts a little as I say it, because I don’t want him to be this person with me.
He steps closer. I can feel the heat of him, the tension rolling off his shoulders. Part of me wants to lean into him for comfort, but another part is bristling, still stung by the fact that he dragged me out here like I needed to be questioned.
“I’m not being weird. I’m being protective.”
“Protective and possessive are not the same thing.”
That hangs in the air, heavy. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel their weight. I mean them, but I also know they’re going to land hard. The corridor suddenly feels colder around the edges, like the castle itself is listening.
Theo looks away for a moment, his jaw clenched.
“I just don’t like it,” he mutters.
“I noticed.” The words come out flatter than I intend. I’m hurt, and I don’t bother hiding it. It scares me a little that he can still make me feel like this with just a look, like I’m the one who’s done something wrong.
He exhales sharply through his nose. “Look, maybe I overreacted, alright? But it’s just… when I saw you smiling like that with him, it didn’t sit right.”
Some of the tightness in my chest eases. He’s still not being entirely fair, but at least he’s being honest. “Then tell me,” I say softly. “Don’t drag me into the hallway and interrogate me like I’ve done something wrong.” My voice wobbles just a little at the end, and I hope he doesn’t hear it.
He sighs, shoulders dropping a fraction. “Okay.”
We stand there in silence. The kind where you don’t know what to say next, because whatever comes out might make it worse. I want to reach for him, but I’m afraid if I do, we’ll just fall back into pretending everything’s fine without actually fixing any of it.
Eventually, I glance toward the common room. “We should go back. People will notice.” And I don’t want to give anyone a reason to start whispering.
We walk back inside side by side, but something’s shifted. The warmth between us is still there, but it’s thinner, tighter, stretched at the edges like it might snap if we pull too hard.
Back at the couches, the group is still gathered, laughing and drinking like nothing’s happened. It’s strange, stepping back into the noise when I feel so quiet inside.
“Everything alright?” Blaise asks, lounging sideways with a goblet in his hand.
“All good,” Theo says easily, throwing an arm back over the couch.
I feel a little pang at how effortless he sounds. Like he can switch it off that quickly. Like the last few minutes didn’t happen.
Draco doesn’t look up from his drink. “Okay,” he says.
I sit down beside Theo, letting him pull me closer again, but my muscles stay a little tense. On the surface, it looks the same as always. To anyone watching, we’re fine. But I can still feel the echo of the corridor pressed into my skin, lingering like a bruise that hasn’t formed yet. And somewhere under all the noise and warmth and firewhisky, a small, quiet part of me is wondering if this is the first crack, or if it’s just the first one I’ve noticed.
Theo lies stretched out on the Slytherin common room couch, his head in my lap, the firelight flickering across the sharp angles of his face. I run my fingers through his hair absentmindedly, letting the quiet settle between us. The weight of the party still hangs in the air like smoke that hasn’t quite cleared, and it’s sitting heavy in my chest too, but neither of us brings it up. Not yet. I’m not sure I’m ready.
“I didn’t mean to get weird earlier,” Theo says finally. His voice is low and gravelly, a little rough at the edges, like he’s been replaying everything in his head the way I have.
I look down at him. His eyes are half-lidded, watching the flames, lashes casting small shadows on his cheekbones. He looks tired. Tired and beautiful and a little bit wrecked, and that makes something in me ache.
“I know,” I say, just as quietly. I do know. That doesn’t mean it didn’t sting.
I don’t ask who. I don’t have to. The name is already there, sharp and sour at the back of my mind. I feel my jaw tighten for a second, then force myself to let it go.
I say nothing, just let my nails lightly scratch his scalp the way I know he likes. His tension starts to fade beneath my touch, his shoulders sinking deeper into the cushions. It always feels a little strange, that I can calm him down this easily when he’s the one who can tie me up in knots with a look.
“He’s always looked at you like… like you were never mine to begin with,” he mutters.
I sigh, gently. The words shouldn’t make my heart clench, but they do. “I’m not a possession, Theo.” I need him to know that, to really understand it, even as my heart presses closer to him like it didn’t hear a thing.
“I know.” His voice softens. “But I want you to be.”
I let out a small laugh, even though part of me knows that shouldn’t sound as sweet as it does. It settles in my chest anyway, warm and dangerous. I shouldn’t want to be wanted like this. I shouldn’t like the way it feels when he says things that sound a little too close to a promise and a warning at the same time. But I do. I always do.
He shifts slightly and looks up at me, really looks at me, eyes tracing my face like he’s trying to memorize it. I suddenly feel exposed, like he can see every messy thought, every ugly, needy feeling I try to keep folded away.
“You know I’m sorry, right?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
I nod. My throat feels tight. “I know.” I know he’s sorry, I know he’s trying, and I know that sometimes it still isn’t enough, but right now I just want to stay here with him and not pull everything apart.
“I don’t want to be that guy,” he murmurs. “I just get in my head sometimes. Sei mia, tesoro. I don’t like when it feels like someone’s trying to forget that.”
The words shouldn’t make my stomach flip the way they do. They shouldn’t make my fingers curl in his hair like I’m the one clinging. But they do, and they always have. It’s terrifying how good it feels to be claimed by him, how easy it is to let myself belong.
His thumb moves in slow circles over the inside of my wrist, like he’s grounding himself, and I let him, because I’m grounding myself on him too.
“You’re not going to lose me,” I whisper. I want it to sound steady, certain, like a fact. It comes out softer than that, like a promise I’m still a little afraid of making.
Theo reaches up, fingers brushing my jaw as he sits up slightly, his touch warm and familiar, like it’s always belonged there. My skin tingles where he touches me, and I lean into it before I can stop myself.
“You remember the first time you kissed me?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips.
I laugh, the memory slipping in easily, bringing with it that same fluttery panic I’d felt then. “You had ink on your nose. From scribbling on that Defense essay you started five minutes before it was due.” I can still see him, hunched over parchment, hair a mess, quill flying.
“You were panicking.” I remember thinking he looked so unfairly good even when he was stressed, and how that annoyed me almost as much as it thrilled me.
“I was panicking because of you,” he says. “You were sitting next to me looking like that, and I couldn’t think straight.”
I tilt my head, curiosity and a little bit of nerves prickling under my skin. “Like what?” Part of me wants to hear it, and part of me is afraid of how much it’ll mean when he says it out loud.
He sits up fully now, scooting closer until our knees touch. The contact sends a little jolt through me. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and I feel my breath catch. He always does this, touches me like he knows exactly how to make my thoughts scatter.
“Like you were the only girl I’d ever be stupid enough to fall for,” he says.
My heart stutters. The room feels suddenly smaller, quieter, like the castle itself is holding its breath with me. I want to look away, to laugh it off, but I can’t. I’m caught on his eyes and the raw honesty there.
He hesitates for a second, eyes dropping to my mouth, then back up. My pulse hammers.
“Sei la mia rovina, amore.”
The words hit me like a spell. I feel them sink into me, heavy and intoxicating. I shouldn’t want to be someone’s ruin, but the way he says it makes it sound like the most beautiful, terrible thing in the world. And he’s looking at me like I already am.
He kisses me then, softly at first. Gentle. Like a thank you, or an apology pressed against my lips. My eyes flutter closed, and I sink into it, into him, into the familiar taste of him and the way everything else starts to blur around the edges.
But it doesn’t stay soft.
His hand finds my waist and pulls me closer. My body moves without thinking, like it’s been waiting for this. My fingers slide into his hair, tugging just a little, and a quiet sound escapes him that goes straight to my chest. Everything sharp and angry from earlier dissolves in the heat between us, melting down into something aching and desperate and real. The crackle of the fire fades into a distant hum. It’s just him and me and the way we keep crashing into each other.
He kisses me like he needs it, like I’m air after drowning, like this is the only way he knows how to say everything he can’t get past his teeth. I feel that same need clawing at my ribs, and I kiss him back just as fiercely, hoping he understands all the things I’m too scared to name.
There’s a quiet desperation in the way his mouth moves against mine, in the way his breath stutters when I lean in, in the way his fingers flex against my side as if he’s checking I’m actually there.
“Il mio,” he breathes against my lips, like a reflex. “Solo mio.”
The words send a shiver straight down my spine. I should push back, remind him I belong to myself first, that I’m not something to be owned. Instead, I feel myself leaning in, choosing him again, like I always do.
And I kiss him back like I believe him, like I’m choosing to. Because I am. That’s the terrifying part.
His hands are warm, steady on my waist. His breath catches when I shift closer, swinging a leg over to straddle his lap, and heat flares across my cheeks. I feel bold and trembling at the same time, but the way his eyes darken when I move makes the uncertainty worth it. The kiss deepens, pulling me under. It isn’t rushed, but it’s intense, messy with feeling and that familiar, stubborn need he never really hides around me.
His fingers dig into my hips for a moment, like he’s afraid I might disappear. The thought makes my chest ache, because for all his possessiveness, there’s a scared boy underneath it, one who’s used to losing things.
“Non ti voglio perdere,” he whispers against my mouth.
I don’t want to lose you.
My heart twists. I press my forehead lightly to his for a second, catching my breath. “You won’t,” I murmur, the words brushing his lips. I want them to be a promise. I want to believe them as much as he does.
When we finally pull apart, breathless and flushed, his forehead rests against mine. I can feel his heart pounding fast beneath my hands, still pressed to his chest. Mine is matching it, wild and uneven, like they’re trying to sync up.
“For tonight,” he whispers, “can we just be us?”
There’s a rawness in his voice that makes my chest tighten. Just us. No jealous looks, no sharp words, no ghosts of other people hanging over our heads. Just Theo and me and this fragile, complicated thing we keep choosing.
I nod. “Just us.” And for once, that feels like enough.
He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for hours, and some of the tension leaks out of his shoulders. I feel myself soften too, like I’m finally letting myself lean all the way into him.
We don’t say anything else. We don’t have to.
We curl into each other on the couch, my legs tangled with his, his coat pulled over us like a blanket. The fabric smells like him, ink and faint smoke and something warm I can never quite name. His hand finds mine under the fabric, fingers lacing through and staying there, as if to make sure I don’t drift too far away, even in sleep. I squeeze back, silently promising I won’t.
The firelight fades to a soft, low glow, shadows dancing lazily across the stone walls. The muffled sounds of the castle grow distant, like they belong to a different world, one that can’t quite reach us here.
We fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world held at arm’s length. Just for tonight. And for tonight, that’s all I want.
I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers nervously twisting the hem of my shirt. The room felt smaller than it had that morning, every shadow a little darker. Theo stood near the window with his back half-turned to me, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched. The late afternoon light framed him, but his eyes were stormy.
“Why do you always have to make everything a problem?” I asked quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He scoffed and pushed off the wall, stepping closer. His voice came out low but sharp, like he was trying to keep it together and failing. “Because you make it a problem, Y/N.”
I blinked, my throat suddenly dry. “I don’t…”
“You don’t what?” he cut in, his voice rising. “You don’t listen? You don’t care about how I feel? You think I’m just being paranoid?”
I shook my head, heart pounding so hard it almost drowned him out. “No, that’s not it at all. I just wanted to explain. You twisted what I said.”
“Twisted?” He took another step toward me, his expression tightening, voice bitter. “I’m the one who’s trying to understand, and all you do is dodge and avoid.”
“I’m not avoiding,” I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes, trying to keep my tone steady. “I’m trying to talk to you.”
He snorted, eyebrows drawing together. “You’re just trying to cover up your mistakes.”
“What mistakes?” I asked, my voice starting to tremble even though I was fighting it.
“The ones you refuse to admit.” His jaw worked as he spoke, like he was holding back even more. “You always have some excuse. Sempre.”
I pushed myself up from the bed, my legs unsteady, hands shaking at my sides. “That’s not fair, Theo. You know I’m trying.”
“Trying isn’t good enough!” He raised his voice, pacing a short line between the window and the dresser. The floor creaked under his steps. “I’m tired of pretending everything’s perfect when it’s not.”
I took a careful step forward, like moving too fast might set him off even more. “You’re being unfair,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “You’re twisting my words to make me the bad guy.”
He stopped and whirled around so fast it made me flinch. His eyes were blazing. “Because you are the bad guy sometimes.”
My breath hitched. The words landed like a punch. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are!” he shouted, his accent thickening on the words. For a moment it felt like the walls might actually close in on us. “You don’t realize how much you hurt me. You act like I’m the problem when you’re the one ruining this.”
“Don’t say that.” I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. My vision blurred around his face. “I’m not ruining anything.”
“You’re ruining everything.” His voice dropped, heavy and cold, each word slow. “Maybe if you cared less about your friends and more about me, this wouldn’t be happening.”
“That’s not true,” I said quietly, my chest aching. “You know that’s not true.”
“Oh, come on,” he sneered, one hand cutting through the air like he was swatting my words away. “You don’t even notice when I’m upset. You just brush it off like it’s nothing.”
“That’s not what I do,” I said, taking a small step toward him. I reached out, but my hand hovered uselessly between us. “Theo, please, just listen to me.”
His eyes flicked to my hand and then back to my face. He took a step back, shoulders going rigid, his expression hardening like stone. “Basta, Y/N. Stop it. Stop twisting everything I say.”
Enough, Y/N. Stop it. Stop twisting everything I say.
“I’m not twisting anything! You’re just…” My voice cracked and I swallowed, trying to catch it before it completely broke apart. “You’re just not hearing me.”
He let out a harsh breath, like a laugh with no humor in it. “Non fare la vittima, amore.”
Don’t play the victim, my love.
The pet name stung more than it comforted. It sounded wrong in his mouth when he was this angry.
“I’m not playing anything,” I said, my throat tight. “I’m just trying to fix this.”
“You always say that.” He shook his head, eyes burning into me. “Sempre a dire la stessa cosa, piccola. And nothing changes.”
Always saying the same thing, little one. And nothing changes.
“That’s not fair,” I repeated, my voice barely there now. “You’re acting like I don’t care at all.”
He stared at me for a long second, his chest rising and falling fast. Then his mouth pressed into a thin line, and something shut down in his eyes.
“I’m done,” he said flatly.
Before I could respond, he turned away, stormed toward the door, and yanked it open. The sound of it slamming echoed through the room, rattling the picture frames on the wall. The vibration hummed through the floorboards, then faded into a heavy, suffocating silence.
I stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway, my chest tight like there was a hand around my lungs. My ears rang in the quiet.
Was it really me? Was I the one who ruined everything?
My knees felt weak. I sank back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. My hands trembled in my lap, fingers still twisting the same piece of fabric like I could hold myself together with it.
The room felt too big without him in it, but the air was still thick with his anger. I stared at the door and tried to breathe, every inhale shaky and shallow.
I didn’t even realize the first tear had fallen until it hit the back of my hand.
The common room was quieter than usual, the fire in the hearth crackling low and lazy. Shadows jumped over the stone walls, and most of the house had already drifted off to bed. Only the soft rustle of pages and the occasional whisper broke the silence.
Blaise settled beside me on the worn leather couch, the cushions sinking under his weight. He smelled faintly of smoke and something expensive, like the cologne he stole from his older cousin over the holidays. His sharp eyes flicked over my face, searching for something I was trying very hard not to show.
“Look,” Blaise said at last, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear, “I’ve been meaning to say this for a while.”
He hesitated, jaw tightening for a second like he was deciding whether to keep going.
“It’s about Theo,” he went on quietly. “He’s been… different lately. Not in a good way.”
I shrugged and tried to make it look casual, forcing a light smile that felt stretched at the edges. “What do you mean? He’s just tired. Exams, you know.” I picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of my jumper, hoping Blaise would drop it.
Blaise raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Tired doesn’t make him snap like that. The way he’s been with you, the way he watches you every time someone talks to you… it’s not like the Theo we know.”
My stomach tightened, a slow, uncomfortable knot. Images flashed through my mind anyway: Theo’s jaw clenching when someone stood too close to me, the way his hand would find my waist and pull me in, his muttered, “Stai vicino a me, amore,” when he thought no one was listening.
Stay close to me, my love.
I bit my lip and stared at the fire. “We’re fine, Blaise. Really. You’re overthinking it.”
He shifted a little closer, the leather creaking under us. “Am I? Because lately it feels like he’s two seconds away from hexing anyone who even looks at you. That’s not normal, not even for Theo.”
I let out a breathy laugh that sounded flimsy in my own ears. “He just… he cares a lot. He’s Italian, remember? They’re all loud and dramatic.”
I tried to make it a joke, but it fell flat between us.
“Loud and dramatic is one thing,” Blaise murmured. “Possessive and jealous is another. He practically lost it when you were talking to that Ravenclaw earlier. That wasn’t just ‘caring a lot.’”
Heat crept up my neck as I remembered Theo’s fingers digging into my hip later, his voice low and sharp in my ear: “Non mi piace quando ti guarda così, tesoro.”
I don’t like it when he looks at you like that, darling.
I’d laughed it off, kissed his cheek, and told him he was being ridiculous. But his eyes hadn’t softened right away.
“We’re good,” I insisted, even though my voice came out softer than I meant. “Honestly, it’s nothing. Just… stress. He gets worked up, and then he cools off. It’s fine.”
Blaise studied my face like he could peel back everything I was hiding. His dark eyes narrowed for a moment. “Does he ever take it out on you?” he asked quietly. “With words, I mean. Or… anything else.”
I blinked, a little too fast. “No. Not like that. He just… gets jealous. He says stuff. But it’s nothing serious.”
In my head I could still hear Theo’s voice from a few nights ago, low and rough as he’d pressed his forehead to mine: “Sei mia, capisci? Solo mia, piccola.”
You’re mine, you understand? Only mine, little one.
My chest squeezed. I remembered how his expression had softened a second later, his thumb brushing my cheek, his mouth warm against my temple as he muttered, “Ti amo, amore mio.”
I twisted the ring on my finger, the one he’d slipped there without asking, like it had always belonged to me. To us.
Blaise sighed under his breath. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. If something’s wrong, you can say it.”
“I’m not pretending,” I lied, managing a shaky laugh as I pushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I promise. We’re… figuring things out. That’s all. You don’t have to worry.”
He watched my hands rather than my face, noticed the way my fingers wouldn’t stay still. “I kind of do, actually.” His voice was still quiet, but there was an edge of stubbornness there. “You’re my friend too. Not just his.”
I swallowed and forced myself to meet his eyes. “Blaise, really. It’s fine. He’s just intense. That’s part of who he is.”
“Intense is him arguing about Quidditch for an hour,” Blaise said. “This is different.” He paused, then added, “If he ever crosses a line, you tell me. I mean it.”
I shook my head, more quickly than I meant to. “He won’t. He’s… Theo. He says things like ‘Non ti lascerò mai, amore,’ and it sounds crazy, but he means it in a good way.”
I’ll never leave you, my love.
Blaise’s expression flickered. “Does it feel good?” he asked gently. “Or does it feel like too much?”
For a second I didn’t know how to answer. It felt like both. Theo’s arm slung around my shoulders in the corridor, his fingers laced tightly with mine, the way he’d scowl if someone made me laugh too hard, then kiss my knuckles and murmur, “Nessuno ti capisce come me, stellina.”
No one understands you like I do, little star.
I cleared my throat. “Sometimes it’s a lot,” I admitted quietly. “But he’s trying. And I’m not… scared of him or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Blaise watched me for another long moment, like he was weighing whether to push further. Then he exhaled and nodded, though his shoulders didn’t quite relax.
“If you say so,” he said at last, his tone reluctant. “But if you need anything, or if he ever makes you feel like you can’t breathe… you know where to find me.”
The word felt small in my mouth. The smile that followed felt even smaller, fragile around the edges, like I was trying to convince myself as much as him that everything really was fine.
Across the room, somewhere behind us, I could almost imagine Theo’s voice in my ear, warm and possessive: “Resta con me, amore. Sempre.”
Stay with me, my love. Always.
“Okay,” Draco said, reaching for his butterbeer, his rings glinting under the warm pub light. “So, Y/N, you really think you can beat Mattheo at wizard chess tomorrow?”
“Please,” Mattheo replied with a lazy grin, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll have you both eating dust.”
Blaise smirked and tipped his bottle toward Mattheo. “You’re all talk.”
I laughed softly, the sound slipping out before I could stop it, trying to keep the mood light. “I’m just here to watch you two argue.”
Theo, sitting beside me with his arm draped over the back of my chair, rolled his eyes but stayed quiet. His fingers brushed my shoulder in a way that was casual on the surface, but I could feel the subtle possessiveness in the touch. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched the others, jaw clenched a little whenever Mattheo’s attention drifted toward me.
It was only a matter of time before he opened his mouth.
He leaned forward suddenly, voice loud enough for everyone at our table and a few nearby to hear. “Honestly, I don’t know how you manage to show up looking like you just rolled out of the Hogwarts kitchens.”
The laughter around us stopped at once. A few people at the next table actually gasped. Blaise’s face darkened as he glanced between us.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I forced a smile even though I felt like shrinking into the floor. “Guess it’s a talent.”
Mattheo’s jaw tightened. “That was uncalled for, Theo.”
Theo shrugged, mouth twisting into a smug half-smile. “Just saying what everyone’s thinking. You look like you smell like old cauldron sludge.”
Silence fell, the kind that made it hard to breathe. I could feel people looking at me, then at him, then away.
Pansy cleared her throat and reached for her glass, trying to cut the tension. “Come on, Theo, ease up. Seriously.”
He only smirked and took a long sip of his drink, clearly pleased with himself. His eyes flicked to Mattheo for a second, as if daring him to say more, then settled back possessively on me.
The rest of the evening blurred. Conversation started back up, but it felt stiff and forced. Every laugh sounded a little too loud, a little too fake. I picked at the label of my bottle, nodding when people spoke to me, but the sting of Theo’s words sat like a stone in my chest.
Later, when we finally left the pub, the night air felt colder than it should have. The street was damp from an earlier drizzle, the cobblestones slick and shining under the dim lamps. Our friends walked ahead, drifting into their own conversations, and soon it was just Theo and me trailing behind.
I wrapped my arms around myself, more for comfort than warmth. The words had been sitting on my tongue since we stepped outside.
“Theo… that was cruel,” I said, my voice shaking more than I wanted it to.
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, his expression already hardening. “You’re way too sensitive. It was a joke.”
“A joke?” I whispered, stopping in my tracks. “It felt like an insult.”
He scoffed and turned to face me fully, his hands sliding into his pockets. “You always blow things out of proportion. Sei così drammatica, piccola.” You’re so dramatic, little one.
Something in my chest cracked at the pet name. It used to sound soft when he said it. Now it felt like a knife.
“I’m not being dramatic,” I said quietly. “You embarrassed me in front of everyone.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “Oh, poverina.” Oh, poor little thing.
He said it like it was an accusation, not comfort.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The words tangled in my throat.
“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
Theo’s gaze hardened, shoulders tensing. “Maybe you just need to toughen up.”
I stared at him, feeling tired all the way down to my bones. The kind of tired that no amount of sleep could fix.
“I’m tired, Theo,” I whispered. “Tired of never being enough. Of always trying to fix things alone.”
He clenched his jaw. His accent slipped thicker into his words when he got worked up. “You’ve changed, Y/N.”
I shook my head, my voice trembling. “No. You have. You’re not the person I fell in love with.”
His eyes darkened, jealousy and anger flickering together. “Non dirmi questo.” Don’t say that to me.
He stepped closer, like he needed to close the distance just to prove he still could. “Don’t you dare blame me.”
“I’m not,” I said, holding my ground even though my heart was racing. I took a small step closer so he’d really hear me. “I’m just saying… this, us, doesn’t feel the same anymore.”
He let out a bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “So now you’re the victim?”
“No,” I said firmly, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I just want you to hear me.”
He raised his voice, hands coming out of his pockets in a sharp gesture. “I’m doing everything I can.” His accent thickened again. “Sto facendo tutto per te, amore.” I’m doing everything for you, my love.
“And I’m still hurting,” I snapped back, my control finally slipping. “Doesn’t that matter to you at all?”
The words hung between us. The only sound was the faint tapping of leftover rain dripping from the rooftops onto the pavement.
His mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out. For a moment, I saw something softer in his eyes, something that looked almost like fear.
I looked away, blinking against the tears burning in my eyes. “This isn’t love anymore,” I said, so quietly I wasn’t sure he’d heard me.
Theo’s face twisted, shock, anger, and disbelief tangling together. “Sei mia,” he said, his voice rough. “Capisci? Sei mia, Y/N.” You’re mine. Do you understand? You’re mine, Y/N.
There was a time when those words would have made me feel safe. Tonight they just felt heavy.
“You’re walking away,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word.
I swallowed hard as tears finally spilled over, running hot down my cheeks. “I have to.”
He reached out, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab my wrist, pull me back, hold me in place. For a second, I thought he would. His hand hovered in the air between us, close enough that I could feel the warmth of it.
Then he stopped, his hand falling back to his side.
“Per favore, non farlo,” he whispered, the fight gone from his voice. “Non lasciarmi, tesoro.” Please, don’t do this. Don’t leave me, darling.
I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “You already lost me, Theo,” I said quietly. “You just didn’t notice.”
I turned away, my footsteps echoing softly against the wet stone as I walked down the dimly lit street, leaving him standing there in the cold.
