They have to end together🥹🥺🥹 but not without Theo literally begging for Reader's forgiveness and Reader being super mean to him 🥹🥺🥹
Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!reader
Summary ; You’re no longer the sweet, shining boy everyone knew. You shut down—silent, cold, and distant. The entire Gryffindor house and even professors worry as you isolate yourself, always disappearing to the Astronomy Tower with no light left in your eyes. Meanwhile, Theodore falls apart. He can’t sleep, can’t eat, and can’t pretend anymore. After a Transfiguration exam, he snaps—confronting his so-called friends for the cruel bet and finally admitting he loved you. To his shock, they feel the guilt too. All of them apologize, deeply, knowing they’ve broken something they can never fully fix.
A/N ; this is OFFICIALLY my longest fic yet.. ENJOY THOUGH :3 (if this flops I'm going back to writing 200 word fics.) I'll upload the continuation of this fic tomorrow because I'm actually so burnt out.
Warnings ; Emotional distress, guilt, lingering heartbreak, depression, isolation, emotional breakdowns, emotional confrontation, unresolved tension, lingering trauma, grief, guilt
And not a single day passes where your name isn’t whispered like a fading ghost through the halls of Hogwarts. Once the boy everyone turned to—bright-eyed, always smiling, the sun in a red and gold tie—you’ve become a haunting. A memory people are too afraid to speak of too loudly.
You were the kind of person who remembered birthdays, even when others forgot their own. The kind who carried extra quills because “someone might need one,” who stayed up helping classmates study, who sat with crying first-years during meals and listened to them like their little fears mattered. You offered kindness like it cost you nothing. Because to you, it didn’t.
Now you walk the same corridors, but it’s like your footsteps don’t make a sound anymore.
You show up. You sit down. You leave.
No helping hand when someone drops a quill or trips in the hallway.
You, who once walked slower just to keep a first-year company.
You, who once stayed behind after class to help erase the board for a tired professor.
You, who once twirled around in the snow just to see how many snowflakes you could catch on your lashes.
The portraits have stopped trying to greet you. The ones that used to cheer when you passed now fall quiet as you go by, like even they feel the weight pressing against your shoulders. The ghosts don't float near you anymore—not even the friendly ones. You don’t light up when you see friends. You don’t wave from across the library. You don’t laugh at Neville’s clumsy spills or Ginny’s sarcastic jokes.
You’re a shell. A hollow echo of the boy you used to be.
Students murmur behind their hands, not with gossip but worry. “He hasn’t eaten in days,” someone whispers. “I saw him in the common room at four in the morning—just staring at the fire.”
Your name is now spoken with a frown. With hesitation.
“He used to help me with Herbology every Tuesday...”
“He gave me chocolate frogs once because I was homesick."
“He called the stars his best friends, remember that?”
“He hasn’t even looked at the sky.”
And it’s true. You haven’t.
You don’t go to the Astronomy Tower anymore. You don’t look up when the night sky reveals itself. You draw your curtains early and press your face into the pillow until it stops hurting—until it starts again the next morning.
Every smile you wore was carefully crafted, stitched from sincerity and softness. And it shattered so completely, no one even remembers what it looked like now.
You don’t cry. That’s the part that scares them the most. You don’t scream, don’t lash out, don’t even flinch.
And the whole school feels the absence of your warmth like a cold draft no one can shut out.
You showed up to class, yes. Sat in your usual seat. Gave the right answers. Nodded at professors. But there was no life behind your eyes.
You didn’t greet anyone in the halls.
You didn’t exist—not in the way you used to.
Even Peeves, who used to adore pranking you because of how dramatically you’d react, had stopped. He floated quietly past you now, expression unreadable.
Because whatever happened to you,
“Have you eaten?” Draco asked, sharp but quiet, sitting on the armrest of the common room sofa.
He sat slumped into the far end of the couch like he was trying to disappear into it. His cheek rested against the back cushion, eyes fixed on the fireplace but unfocused—glassy and hollow, as if he weren’t really there. The room flickered with golden firelight, shadows dancing across his pale face, but he didn’t even blink. His jumper was rumpled and too thin for the cold, sleeves stretched and chewed from anxious fingers. The collar sagged. His hair was a mess. He looked like a memory wearing itself thin.
Draco frowned. “Seriously, Theo, you look like hell.”
Blaise groaned, walking behind the couch to toss a blanket over him. “You can’t mope around like this forever—”
“Yes, I can,” Theodore rasped.
Pansy looked up from her book. Astoria stilled mid-sip of her tea. Mattheo straightened where he sat by the window.
It was the first thing he’d said in days.
“You—what?” Lorenzo asked, like he hadn’t heard him right.
“Yes,” Theodore repeated, barely above a whisper, “I can.”
His voice cracked on the second word. Not with emotion, not yet—but with disuse. Like it had been tucked away somewhere dark and cold and forgotten.
“I can rot here,” he continued, sinking deeper into the couch. “And I will.”
“Theo,” Blaise said, quieter now, gentler, “this isn’t—come on, you need to eat something. Or sleep. You’re barely human right now—”
“You’ve been missing classes.”
“You’ve been skipping meals.”
“I don’t care, Blaise!” Theodore snapped suddenly, sitting upright.
The outburst startled them all.
Pansy jumped. Astoria’s cup clinked against its saucer. Mattheo looked alarmed.
“I don’t care if I’m failing, I don't care if I look like a goddamn zombie, I don’t care if I die in this fucking room,” Theodore snarled, breathing hard. “Because at least if I die here, it won’t be out there, where he can see me.”
His voice cracked for real this time.
The room was silent. No one moved. No one dared.
He dragged a hand down his face. “You don’t get it,” he whispered. “I can’t even walk past the Astronomy Tower anymore without wanting to scream. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face when I—when I said those words. That moment. That exact second he realized…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
“He trusted me,” he said instead, voice shaking, “and I broke him. And for what? Six hundred fucking galleons? A laugh?”
The guilt rolled off him in waves, suffocating and bitter. He curled forward like he couldn’t hold the weight anymore.
“I haven’t seen him smile in weeks,” he croaked. “Not once. Not a flicker. I took the brightest thing in this school and I dimmed it. I killed it.”
Pansy covered her mouth. Astoria looked close to tears. Mattheo dropped his gaze.
“You should’ve seen him,” Theodore whispered. “Before me. Before the bet. He was like—like something out of a fairytale. He helped everyone. He’d stay up until four in the morning studying just so he could help a first-year through a test the next day. He knew the names of every constellation, every planet. He’d talk about the universe like it was magic. Like it was alive. And I…”
The first tear slipped down his cheek silently.
“I told him I loved him under a sky full of stars and I lied.”
Not even Mattheo, who was usually the first to crack a joke when things got too heavy.
“I haven’t been able to sleep since,” Theodore whispered, tears streaming down his face now. “Not when I know he probably cries alone every night and I—I did that. With my words. My mouth. My heartless—”
His voice choked off, and he slammed a fist into the arm of the sofa.
“I wish I’d never taken that fucking bet.”
Mattheo shifted uncomfortably, guilt etched into every line of his face. “We didn’t think it would… go this far. We thought you’d laugh it off. That he’d figure it out.”
“He loved me,” Theodore said, voice flat. “He loved me more than I’ve ever been loved in my life. And I crushed him. For all of you.”
None of them had anything to say to that.
And they were just starting to realize how much it cost.
Across the castle, in Gryffindor Tower, things were just as broken—if not more.
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls like memories refusing to fade. The chairs around the common room were half-occupied—students whispering quietly, watching you from the corners of their eyes but saying nothing. Not anymore.
You sat curled into your usual spot by the window, the one with the draft you used to complain about but secretly liked because it made the stars feel closer. You didn’t complain anymore. You didn’t speak. You barely moved. A blanket was draped around your shoulders, though you hadn’t pulled it there yourself. It was always there, every night—someone’s silent attempt to bring you comfort you couldn’t ask for.
“Please,” Hermione’s voice cracked. She knelt beside you, her hand hovering, not quite touching your knee. “Just one spoonful, love. Just one. You have to eat something. You haven’t even touched breakfast, and it’s nearly dinner.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t blink.
You hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of toast in days. And even those were forced down, dry and tasteless, with shaking hands and an empty stomach that didn’t growl anymore. It was as if even your body had stopped trying.
Ron sat on the floor behind Hermione, his brows drawn together, lips pressed in a tight line. “He’s not gonna answer, Hermione. He hasn’t said anything in days.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she snapped, and then immediately softened, her gaze flickering back to you. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”
Harry stood further back, near the stairs, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He hadn’t said much since that day. He was angry—but not at you. Never at you. Just at the situation. At the pain carved into your face. At himself, maybe, for not stopping it. For not being able to fix it. For not noticing that you were falling in love with someone who had only ever meant to break you.
Because if you did, you’d see the way their eyes shimmered. You’d see the way they looked at you like you were something fragile, something precious and cracked, and it would all become too real again.
So you kept your gaze on the sky, even though you didn’t see it anymore. Not really.
The stars—once your solace, your home, your peace—now felt like strangers. Cold and distant and cruel. You used to sit here for hours, naming constellations, tracing galaxies with your fingertip on the glass, yapping on about black holes and nebulae and planetary alignments until someone dragged you away.
Now your fingers were still.
It wasn’t just the heartbreak. It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the humiliation. The cruelty of it all. The laughter that had echoed through the Great Hall still haunted your ears. The way his voice, the same voice that once whispered “I love you” under starlit skies, had gone sharp, cold, hollow as he dumped you in front of everyone like you were some failed potion.
And somehow, despite all of that, you still missed him.
Not the version that had laughed with Mattheo and Draco while you fell apart.
Not the version that walked away without even flinching.
But the version that had held you close under blankets in the Astronomy Tower. The one who whispered stories about the stars with you. The one who let you talk for hours and never told you to stop. The one who kissed you like he meant it.
You missed the Theodore who ran his fingers through your hair just to watch you fall asleep in his lap.
You missed the feeling of his arms around you, strong and warm and protective in ways you didn’t know you needed. You missed the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles when you were anxious. The way he’d press his lips to your temple like a promise, so soft and lingering it felt like he was memorizing you.
But you never said it out loud.
Because that would mean admitting you still wanted him.
That you still loved him.
And after everything, how could you?
You hated yourself for it. For the way your skin still itched with phantom memories. For the way your body leaned just slightly to the left sometimes, as if expecting him to be there. For the way you still dreamed about him, still woke up with his name on your lips and tears on your cheeks.
And yet, every night, without fail, you curled into that windowsill. You watched the sky. You waited for something—anything—to bring you peace.
Your dorm mates stopped asking if you were okay. Seamus had tried to make you laugh with one of his awful impressions of Snape, but when you didn’t even blink, he sat down and said nothing else. Dean left a chocolate frog on your bed one morning. You didn’t touch it.
Neville looked like he was going to cry every time you passed him.
Even Lavender, who usually only cared about gossip, had stopped talking about boys and started leaving little notes of encouragement near your books. You read them. You appreciated them. But they didn’t help.
You moved through the castle like a ghost—quiet, present, but not alive.
The professors noticed too. McGonagall, strict as she was, gave you extra time on essays. Flitwick excused you from practicals. Even Snape, of all people, narrowed his eyes when you walked into Potions late one morning and just stared at you before silently returning to the board without his usual cruel remarks.
Because you weren’t you anymore.
You were the boy who used to light up when someone mentioned a meteor shower. The boy who believed in soulmates and kissed like love was the only thing keeping the world spinning. The boy who gave everything—and got nothing back.
Now you were the boy who sat in silence.
The boy who flinched when someone got too close.
The boy who hadn’t smiled in twenty-nine days.
The boy who whispered names of stars under his breath at night, not because he wanted to share them, but because he was afraid he’d forget.
Because the only time you still felt anything at all,
Was when you closed your eyes and pretended his hand was still wrapped in yours.
Professor McGonagall nearly lost her composure in the middle of the staff meeting.
“He’s failing Astronomy,” she whispered to Flitwick, her voice thin and frayed at the edges. “He adored that subject. He breathed it. He stayed after every class, even when he didn’t have to, just to help clean up the telescopes or talk about star formations no one else remembered. He used to smile so brightly when he pointed at the constellations—smile, Filius.”
Flitwick’s ears drooped slightly as he folded his hands in front of him. “I know,” he murmured. “He used to come to my classroom during breaks and ask questions about star-related charms. Said he wanted to see if stardust could be replicated magically. His curiosity was… infectious.”
Professor Sinistra, normally so composed, rubbed her arms and shook her head. “He was the only student who’d ask to stay after class just to keep looking at the sky. He told me once that the stars made him feel safe. That no matter what happened, the sky stayed the same, and that gave him hope.” Her voice broke slightly. “Now he doesn’t even look up.”
“I tried to give him an extension on the recent charting project,” she added, voice quieter. “He just left the parchment blank. When I asked if he needed help, he told me, ‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ Then he walked out.”
McGonagall’s hands trembled on the table. “That boy has never—never—spoken to a professor like that before. Not even during his worst days. He apologized once for being late when he was ill. And now he’s failing?”
There was silence for a moment—thick, heavy silence.
Then Slughorn spoke, eyes sad behind his spectacles. “I had him in third year for Potions Club,” he said quietly. “Brilliant young man. Polite, thoughtful. He used to make these beautiful little memory vials with constellations etched into them—gave one to me after a particularly long week. Said it reminded him of his mother. Always thinking of others. And now…” His voice cracked. “He didn’t even show up for the last two club meetings.”
Snape sat across the table, arms crossed, face blank. But his eyes were hard and sharp. “He’s late to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Every day. I don’t deduct points anymore,” he said coolly, but the slightest furrow in his brow betrayed more than his tone. “He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t raise his hand. He simply exists.”
“You said he gave the correct counter-curse last week,” Flitwick offered gently, as if trying to find something good.
“Yes,” Snape replied slowly, “but he didn’t look at me once. Didn’t even react when the others applauded. It was like… it meant nothing.”
McGonagall leaned forward. “He doesn’t sit with anyone anymore. Not at meals, not in the common room. I found him asleep on a bench near the astronomy tower two nights ago. It was freezing. He’d been out there for hours.”
“That poor boy,” Professor Sprout murmured, dabbing her eyes. “He always helped my Hufflepuffs with Herbology, even when they didn’t ask. Always smiling, always kind.”
“I saw him in the corridor yesterday,” Hagrid added softly, his massive hands folded tightly on the table. “He didn’t even notice me. Just walked by like a ghost. I said his name—twice. Not even a flinch.”
Dumbledore had been silent this entire time, his hands steepled beneath his chin, expression unreadable.
Finally, he spoke, voice low but heavy with weight. “I spoke with Harry last evening. He’s tried everything. So has Miss Granger. So has Mr. Weasley. They said he doesn’t respond anymore. That he simply nods and walks away.”
“Do you think… we should intervene more directly?” McGonagall asked, hesitant, as though even saying it was invasive.
Dumbledore’s gaze drifted toward the high window, where stars were just beginning to appear in the dusky sky. “There is a grief that burrows itself so deep into a person that no spell, no potion, and no lecture can reach it,” he said gently. “This is not just heartbreak. This is… loss of self.”
The staff exchanged solemn glances.
“Do we know what caused it?” Slughorn asked finally.
Snape’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”
“Theodore Nott,” he said plainly. “It was him.”
“He broke up with Y/N in the Great Hall,” McGonagall said bitterly. “In front of everyone.”
“And it was part of a bet,” Snape added coldly. “Made by him and the other Slytherins.”
The room erupted in quiet gasps and soft curses.
Hagrid’s face turned red with anger. “A bet?! That poor lad gave that boy his heart—he was over the moon for him!”
“I believe,” Dumbledore said gently, “he still is.”
That silence came again—heavier this time. More suffocating.
“I should speak with Mr. Nott,” McGonagall said finally, standing.
Dumbledore raised a hand.
“No,” he said, voice grave. “He already knows what he’s done. He’s suffering in his own way.”
“So we just wait?” Flitwick asked softly.
“We wait,” Dumbledore said, “and hope the stars he once trusted so deeply… guide him back.”
Theodore stood outside the Astronomy Tower again that night.
Just like every night since the day he broke your heart.
Same hour. Same silence. Same ache that never dulled. He didn’t go inside—not anymore. He stood just outside the archway, where the wind howled through the corridor and the shadows swallowed him whole. The tower didn’t feel like his place anymore. It never truly had.
Yours, with your star charts and wide eyes. Yours, with your laughter that echoed like music between stone walls. Yours, with the way you’d twirl in the moonlight, pointing at constellations like you were introducing him to friends. The tower had felt warm once, enchanted even. Now it felt hollow. Like a tomb.
Maybe it was punishment. Maybe it was hope. Maybe he was chasing ghosts.
Maybe he just wanted to be close to you, even if only in memory.
The chill wind bit at his skin as he pulled your old star chart from his pocket. It was frayed at the edges, creased from his constant unfolding, but it still smelled faintly of you—like ink, old parchment, and peppermint. He clutched it like it was sacred.
He unfolded it slowly, fingers trembling.
The little doodles you'd drawn along the corners still made his heart twist. Tiny constellations with smiley faces, a stick figure labeled “Y/N,” one beside it labeled “Theo,” both lying under a cartoon sky filled with glittery stars. Your annotations were messy in places, but charming.
Beside the comet sketch, you had written:
“We’ll see this one together next winter. Promise me you’ll be there.”
He hadn’t even remembered the comet until now. It was due to pass overhead in December.
He wasn’t sure if he’d live to see it.
Every night he stayed in this spot, cold and hollow, his thoughts looping back to the same image:
Your face in the Great Hall.
When he’d said it. When he’d laughed. When he told you it was all a joke.
He saw it in every nightmare now—
Your bright smile faltering.
The color draining from your face.
The way you didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even argue.
You just… looked at him like he’d killed something inside you.
And the others? His so-called friends? Mattheo, Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Astoria, Lorenzo… They’d laughed like it was nothing. Tossed their galleons on the table. Cheered like it was a victory.
But even they had stopped laughing now.
Because it was affecting him, too.
He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t joke. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t feel like himself.
He was just a shell—full of regret, sick with guilt, and haunted by the sound of your voice whispering star facts to him in the dark.
And even they were starting to see it.
Even Snape had given him a strange look in class, as if recognizing something deeper—something broken.
But Theodore didn’t care what they saw anymore.
He only cared about the one person who no longer looked at him at all.
He held the chart tighter to his chest, his breath shaky as he glanced up at the stars above the tower. They sparkled like they always had—but somehow felt dimmer. Distant. Cold.
You used to make them feel close. Like they could be touched.
Now, they were just reminders.
His lips parted as he whispered into the night, voice raw, shaking.
It cracked through the silence like thunder.
“I miss your voice… I miss how you talked about Mars like it was your best friend. I miss how you held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. I miss how you looked at me like I mattered. Like I was someone worth loving.”
He stared down at the parchment again, eyes burning.
“You loved me like I was the stars, Y/N. And I loved you too. I was just too much of a coward to say it.”
The wind whistled through the corridor.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold wall, letting his head fall against the stone.
“You gave me the universe… and I shattered it like it meant nothing.”
He paused—waiting. Hoping. Begging for a sign.
No familiar giggle from the stairway.
Just the cold, and the empty ache that he feared might never go away.
And the knowledge that he’d broken the only thing in his life that had ever truly been beautiful.
The Astronomy Tower stood the same, and that hurt more than anything.
Because everything else had changed.
You walked slowly, your hand brushing the familiar stone wall. You could feel the ghosts of what had once been—his hand clasping yours, your laughter echoing into the sky, the way the stars looked brighter just because he was beside you.
Your chest ached with every step. You hadn’t been back since that night. Since the night everything inside you died and turned to something quiet, cold, and bitter. It had taken every ounce of your remaining will to drag yourself up here again.
But something called to you.
Maybe it was foolish hope. Maybe it was grief.
Maybe it was the part of you that still whispered his name in the dark.
When you pushed open the heavy door, the wind hit you first—chilly, but familiar—and then the stars, blinking quietly, as if waiting for you to return.
You took a deep breath, stepping onto the balcony. The stone railing was cold under your fingertips, but grounding.
It was just you and the sky again.
You closed your eyes, lifting your face to the stars.
“Cassiopeia’s crooked again,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You always hated that.”
You let out a shaky breath. “I told you the stars didn’t care about symmetry. You told me I talked too much. But you never stopped listening.”
Your voice cracked. “Why didn’t you stop listening when it mattered?”
Your heart sank, and you didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.
He always walked like that around you—like he was trying not to wake you from a dream.
You didn’t move. You barely breathed.
His voice hadn’t changed.
Your eyes met his—and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.
“God,” you whispered without meaning to, “you look…”
Theodore Nott had always been pale, sharp, elegant—but now he looked fragile. Like a single gust of wind would knock him over. His cheekbones were sharper, his eyes rimmed red. There were dark circles under them, the kind that didn’t come from lack of sleep alone. His robes hung looser on him. His hands were shaking, even though he tried to hide it.
And his eyes—those haunting, sea-glass eyes you used to love so much—looked empty.
“I didn’t think you’d come back here,” he said, voice rough.
“I didn’t mean to,” you replied softly, still shocked. “But I couldn’t sleep.”
He took a step closer, cautious.
You didn’t move away—but you didn’t get closer, either.
“Why do you look like that?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “What happened to you?”
He swallowed, eyes flicking away. “You.”
“Don’t say that,” you said harshly.
You both knew it was true.
“You haven’t been eating,” you murmured, eyeing him. “You haven’t been sleeping.”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
You stared at him for a long time. “Why?”
“Because I miss you,” he admitted, barely a whisper. “Because I hate myself. Because I keep hearing your voice in my head and it hurts more than anything else ever has.”
He took another step closer.
The wind swirled around you both, tugging at your robes.
“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t be looking at you. I shouldn’t care.”
“But you do,” he said quietly.
And gods help you—you did.
“Why are you here, Theodore?” you asked, voice shaking. “Why now?”
He blinked slowly, as if every word he was about to say was a struggle.
Your hands curled into fists.
“Because I never got to say it before,” he whispered. “Not when it mattered. Not when you were breaking. Not when I should’ve thrown the bet away and fallen to my knees in front of you.”
You stared at him, lips trembling.
“You want to say sorry now?” you asked, voice brittle. “After you made me a joke? After you humiliated me in front of the whole school? After you laughed with them like I was a fucking—toy?”
“I didn’t laugh,” he said, voice cracking. “I never laughed.”
You scoffed. “You didn’t stop them.”
“I should have,” he admitted. “I should’ve grabbed your hand and told them all to go to hell.”
“Because I was stupid. And scared. And weak. I cared more about what they thought of me than I did about how I was hurting you.”
You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself.
“I told you about my parents,” you said, voice soft. “I told you about being alone. I told you how scared I was of being someone’s pity project. And you—you used that against me.”
The silence between you grew sharp.
You took another step forward, now inches away.
“You killed something inside me, Theodore.”
He looked ready to break.
“And you know what’s worse?” you whispered. “I still love you. Even now. Even after everything. Even when I don’t want to.”
His lips parted, eyes wide.
You laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that pathetic?”
“No,” he said, voice urgent. “It’s not. It’s not pathetic, Y/N. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And I—I ruined you.”
“Yes,” you whispered. “You did.”
He reached for you—slowly.
“I can’t forgive you,” you said, choking on the words. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“I need you to understand something, Theo,” you said, voice breaking. “I would have given you everything. I did. I would’ve walked through fire for you.”
You looked up, eyes glassy.
“But you set the fire yourself.”
Then, quietly, “And you watched me burn.”
But this time, he turned too. He watched you walk away.
And when you looked back—just once—you saw it.
He collapsed against the balcony the second you disappeared down the stairs, shoulders trembling.
The stars above both of you blinked down in sorrow.
And neither of you noticed that the brightest one flickered out.
Theodore Nott was a haunted boy now.
There were nights he couldn’t sleep, so he just laid on his back in the cold green haze of the Slytherin dorms, watching the shadows from the Black Lake dance along the stone ceiling. His hands trembled. His thoughts did not.
Because every single thought was you.
Your voice. Your laugh. The way your eyes shimmered when you looked up at the sky and started yapping about Sirius or Mars or that little cluster of stars that supposedly looked like a cat you always insisted that one existed.
He would’ve laughed at you once. Thought you were ridiculous. Too bright for your own good.
But then you had kissed him.
And suddenly, stars had felt real.
You weren’t laughing anymore.
You weren’t talking about constellations.
Gryffindor tower had turned somber. The usual energy was gone. No more jokes. No more harmless explosions from Fred and George. No more friendly morning bickering with Ron, or walking with Hermione to breakfast, or teasing Harry for being the “chosen one” with a crooked grin that made people smile just watching it.
Now you barely left your bed.
You stopped eating unless someone forced you to.
You didn’t go to Astronomy class anymore—your favorite class. Professor Sinistra even visited McGonagall personally to let her feelings out of her chest.
And she wasn’t the only one worried.
He called on you once during Potions, something he rarely did, and when you didn’t respond—just stared blankly at the board with bloodshot eyes—he paused for a moment.
His voice wasn’t sharp. Not like usual.
“Mr. Y/L/N,” he said, quieter. “You’re excused for today. Leave your things. Go back to your common room.”
You didn’t argue. You just left.
The whole class went silent.
Because everyone had heard the rumors by now.
The whole school knew what Theodore had done. The bet. The humiliation. The way your face had cracked in front of every house like a mirror shattering in slow motion. You hadn’t said a single word to Theodore since that day.
But he hadn’t stopped looking for you.
“Where is he? I haven't seen him all fucking day.” Theodore snapped, slamming his hands on the table in the Slytherin common room.
Blaise glanced up from his book. “Still being dramatic in Gryffindor tower, I imagine.”
“Don’t,” Theodore warned. His tone was darker than they’d heard in weeks. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”
Mattheo exchanged a glance with Draco. “Mate,” he said slowly, “we didn’t think—”
“Exactly,” Theodore snarled. “You didn’t think. None of us did.”
The common room went quiet again.
Theodore raked a hand through his hair, pacing.
“I—I thought he’d bounce back,” Lorenzo offered weakly. “He’s Gryffindor’s golden boy. Always so… cheerful.”
“He’s not,” Theodore said, voice hollow. “Not anymore.”
Astoria finally spoke, soft but sharp. “We did this.”
And the worst part? It wasn’t just you that had changed.
Theodore was unraveling right alongside you.
He hadn’t slept properly in weeks. He skipped more classes than he attended. He carried your astronomy notebook around like a damn talisman, flipping through it every night like it would summon you back.
There were notes in the margins about him. Tiny doodles. Scribbled hearts. One page even had his name next to a constellation you made up—Theodon, the “prickly lion star.”
He had laughed when he saw that. Now it made his eyes burn.
He missed you so much it hurt to breathe.
Back in Gryffindor tower, you sat curled in a blanket on the windowsill, journal unopened in your lap.
Harry watched you from across the room, arms folded.
“Talk to me,” he tried again. “Just a word. Anything.”
You blinked slowly, like you were underwater.
“Y/N,” Hermione whispered from behind you. “You’re scaring us.”
Your hands didn’t tremble anymore.
And that silence was worse.
Because you had never been silent.
You had always been the one to talk through your feelings, ramble about them. Even when things were hard, you lit up the room with useless facts about constellations or reminded people to breathe, smile, take care of themselves. You were light.
Hermione knelt beside your seat, placing a wrapped chocolate frog on your lap. “I saved this for you.”
Ron shifted uncomfortably near the fireplace, staring at the floor. “He doesn’t deserve you, you know,” he mumbled. “Not after what he did.”
“He doesn’t,” Harry agreed.
“I know,” you finally whispered.
It was the first time you had spoken in two days.
You set the chocolate frog aside gently.
“Then why does it still hurt?” you asked, voice hollow. “Why does it feel like the stars stopped shining?”
Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.
Harry reached for your hand and squeezed. “Because you loved him.”
You nodded slowly, swallowing thickly. “Yeah,” you rasped. “I really did.”
That night, you returned to the Astronomy Tower for the first time in weeks.
You didn’t tell anyone. You just climbed the steps quietly, hands shaking, heart aching. The door creaked open. The wind whispered like a ghost, cold and biting.
You stepped out into the night.
The stars greeted you like old friends.
You stood there for a long moment, just breathing, letting the wind whip through your robes. You remembered where you’d sat with him. Where he kissed you. Where he looked at you like you were the only thing he could see.
You knelt down and opened your journal.
You drew every star you could see. Every one you remembered. Every one he made you forget.
And for the first time in weeks…
Not from heartbreak, but from relief.
The stars hadn’t gone anywhere.
And maybe—just maybe—you could find your way back to them.
Far below, Theodore sat in the courtyard, your notebook pressed to his chest like a shield.
He stared up at the tower window, wondering if you were there. Wondering if the stars had taken you back.
Wondering if he’d ever be enough to stand beside you again.
And for the first time in his life, Theodore Nott felt like the loneliest boy in the universe.
The halls had grown quieter when you passed.
Not out of awkwardness. Out of worry.
Professors had stopped asking you questions directly. Neville tried to sit next to you in Herbology, but you barely acknowledged him. Even Lavender and Parvati, who once couldn’t stop teasing you about “your moody Slytherin boyfriend,” had learned to keep their distance. You were polite. Distant. Untouchable.
But slowly, you were reclaiming little pieces of yourself.
You returned to Astronomy class regularly, always sitting near the back. You still never spoke, but you were there. Present. Listening.
And you were writing again.
A few Gryffindors had noticed. Hermione peeked at your parchment once and saw it—pages and pages of stars, sky maps, invented constellations. She cried about it later in the common room, but didn’t let you see.
Even Professor Sinistra took notice.
She left you small things after class. A note. A paper star folded from map pages. A diagram of lunar phases that included your birthday marked with a tiny, golden moon. Her way of saying, I see you. You’re still here.
He still walked the halls with that same cool expression, that perfect posture, that quiet air—but he was hollow now. Glass-eyed. Slower. The shadows under his eyes had turned permanent.
He avoided his friends, the Slytherin common room, the Quidditch pitch.
He was grieving, even if he couldn’t admit it at first.
But guilt was a loud, living thing.
And it clawed at him every day.
It all happened after a Transfiguration exam.
Theodore was the last to leave the classroom, trailing behind with his hands buried in his pockets and his head low. He hadn’t slept. Again. He was lingering behind while others rushed out into the corridor, buzzing about how hard the written section was or how McGonagall’s stern gaze could petrify you harder than any spell.
His footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, the usual hum of students long since faded. But then he heard them. Laughter. Familiar voices that made his stomach twist with guilt.
Mattheo. Draco. Blaise. Pansy. Astoria. Lorenzo.
They were leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, like nothing had changed, like they hadn’t shattered something unfixable. The laughter stopped when they noticed him. Mattheo's grin faltered and pushed off the wall.
“Theodore,” he called, catching his sleeve. “Oi—what’s got you in a mood? We haven’t seen you in weeks. Did the Gryffindor go all dramatic on you again?”
Theodore yanked his arm away, eyes flashing with something colder than anger.
And for once, he didn’t walk away.
He turned on his heel, slow and deliberate.
His voice was razor-sharp when it came. “What the fuck do you want?”
Draco raised a brow, amused. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Theodore snapped. “Or has all that hair gel finally seeped into your ears?”
Mattheo laughed again, but it sounded forced this time. “Holy shit, what’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” Theodore took a step forward, his voice a bitter cocktail of fury and heartbreak. “You’re all what’s wrong with me. You, this stupid bet, and every single time I let you make fun of him.”
Pansy blinked. “It was just a joke—”
“No, it wasn’t.” His voice cracked. “It was him. It was someone who trusted me. Someone who smiled like sunlight and helped every person he met—including you. And I let you turn him into a fucking punchline.”
The silence was crushing.
He was shaking now—shoulders tense, jaw clenched, hands curled into trembling fists.
“I loved him,” Theodore whispered, barely holding himself together. “And I destroyed him because I was too much of a coward to say no. You think I’m upset because the bet ended? No. I’m upset because I wake up every night wishing I’d never taken it. Because now he won’t even look at me. And he shouldn’t.”
His voice dropped even lower. “Because I don’t deserve it.”
And for the first time since the bet started, Theodore saw it—guilt. Real guilt. The kind that sinks into bone and never lets go.
“I can’t sleep,” Theodore said hoarsely. “I can’t breathe in our dorm because I hear him laugh. I walk through this school, and I can’t go ten fucking feet without remembering him. And you think this is funny?”
Mattheo’s smirk wavered. His usual bravado slipped away, bit by bit, as Theodore’s words hung in the air like poison.
No one had ever seen him like this. Broken. Raw. Honest.
Draco shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his shoes. Blaise’s arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression had gone pale. Pansy’s lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say. Not yet.
Finally, Astoria stepped forward.
“Theodore…” Her voice was soft. Guilty. “We didn’t think it would end like this.”
He scoffed bitterly. “What? That I’d actually care? That I’d fall in love with him?”
“We thought it was a crush,” Blaise muttered. “A laugh. A way to get under the Gryffindors’ skin.”
Pansy cleared her throat, voice shaking now. “He used to help me in Potions. Every week, even when he had his own homework. He brought me Pepper-Up Potion when I was sick last winter.”
Theodore’s jaw clenched. “And you still watched me break him.”
“We didn’t know,” Mattheo said, quieter than he’d ever spoken before. “We didn’t know you were serious.”
“I wasn’t at first!” Theodore shouted. “That’s the worst part. I wasn’t. I was just like you. Laughing. Lying. Pretending it meant nothing. But then… then he started showing me stars. Telling me about the universe like it was a love letter. And I—” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I started seeing myself in the sky.”
Until Pansy stepped forward, tears prickling at her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We’re all sorry. We didn’t just hurt him. We hurt you. We made you into someone you're not.”
Lorenzo nodded, voice hoarse. “We were cruel. And we deserve whatever comes from it.”
Draco’s lips pressed together tightly. He gave a single, solemn nod. “We were wrong, Theodore.”
Theodore stared at them, throat tight, chest aching.
“You don’t deserve forgiveness,” he said coldly. “But you can start by never mocking his name again. Ever. And if you really want to make it right… start by remembering the kind of person he is. Not the one we turned him into.”
Mattheo ran a hand down his face and let out a shaky breath. “You’re right.”
“We’re sorry,” Astoria repeated, voice almost too soft to hear.
Because the damage was already done.
But at least now, they knew it.
