что-то не очень приятное
и мейби я снова что-то попутал, но слушая реплики и читая записки.. как я поняла... когда на Олли делали эксперименты, сама эта жидкость.. маковый гель позволяла его "организму" не просто восстанавливаться но и расти... что если Олли просто вырос в своем костюме? Был ли он маленьким чертиком из табакерки с самого начала? Возможно этот ответ открывается в рисунке Тэодора
Summary ; You loved him through every lie, every empty promise, every time he left you waiting in the cold—and still, you believed he could change. Even when your friends begged you to walk away, you stayed, hoping your love would be enough. But when Theodore forgot your anniversary and laughed with someone else like your heart didn’t exist, you finally broke.
A/N ; hi.. cried while making this teehee. Dont forget to listen to these songs while reading! ; - happier than ever by billie eillish - im not the only one by sam smith - happier, traitor, favorite crime and deja vu by olivia rodrigo -tightrope by michelle williams (tgsm)
Warnings ; Emotional abuse, cheating, toxic relationship, gaslighting, self-blame, emotional breakdown, public humiliation (non-violent, verbal), heavy angst, mentions of crying, no happy ending.
Word count ; 9.8k
The corridor is too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your stomach twist—not because it’s peaceful, but because it isn’t supposed to be. Like a lull before a scream. Like a heartbeat pausing for something awful.
Your steps echo. Too loud. Too exposed.
You weren’t even supposed to be here. Just a late walk back from the library, arms full of books for your next Potions essay, scarf half-draped over your shoulder. You’d checked your watch—past curfew, sure, but you’re a Prefect. You had a pass. And you were worried.
Theodore hadn’t shown up to dinner. Again.
He hadn’t replied to your note either—the one you’d left folded neatly into his pillow, reminding him to eat something, please, because he always forgot when he was stressed. You just wanted to check. Maybe bring him his favorite tea from the kitchens. Maybe surprise him with the scarf you knit.
Just a little bit of love. That’s all it was.
That’s when you saw them.
It hits like an icicle through your chest—sharp and so cold it burns. You don’t even register that your legs stop walking. You freeze in place, in the worst possible moment, in the wrong place at the worst time.
He’s there. Theodore Nott.
And she’s with him.
Pressed against the stone wall of the hallway like a scene out of a bad romance novel, except you’re not the one in his arms. Her hands are on him—fingertips brushing over his jaw, the hem of his shirt half-tugged from his trousers. And his hand?
On her hip.
You don’t breathe. Can’t. Won’t. Because breathing means accepting it’s real.
She leans up and kisses him—right on the corner of his mouth.
He doesn’t pull away.
Your books slip from your arms and crash against the stone floor. It’s loud enough to startle you back into your own body. Loud enough to startle them, too.
She gasps and jumps back, adjusting her blouse with trembling fingers before bolting down the hall without looking at you.
But he doesn’t run. No—Theodore turns to you slowly, like he’s just been caught doing something minor. Like this is detention-worthy at best.
His mouth opens, slow and almost bored. “Y/N—?”
Your name in his voice feels like a slap.
You don’t even flinch when he says it. You just look at him. You look and look and look, hoping—somehow—that the more you stare, the more the image will change. That this is a dream. That it’s not him.
But it’s him. And his shirt is still rumpled. His lips are still kissed. His expression is still unreadable.
“It’s not what it looked like,” he says, walking toward you with all the urgency of someone fixing a mild inconvenience.
You take a step back.
He pauses.
“She came onto me,” he adds, like it explains anything. “It wasn’t serious.”
You blink. “Did you stop her?”
The silence that follows is damning. You already know the answer.
He exhales through his nose, like he’s the one tired. “It wasn’t anything.”
You try to smile. You really do. But it cracks at the corners, and your lips tremble instead. “You… you promised.”
The words aren’t accusations. They’re reminders. Gentle. Shaky. Just facts.
He shrugs. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
Your heart shatters in slow motion.
You stare down at the scattered books on the floor. They’re all gifts from your friends—titles they lent you, the ones they know help you sleep when Theodore doesn’t come to bed. Little pieces of comfort. And they’re all lying there like casualties.
He notices your silence and steps forward again. This time, his voice softens—not quite genuine, but close enough to mimic it.
“Babe, come on. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I care about you.”
The word care hits your stomach like a rock. Not love. Not even affection. Just… care.
Still, he reaches out. Cupping your face like he’s done a thousand times before—when he wanted something. When he needed forgiveness. When he needed you to believe him.
His thumb brushes your cheek. “I’m sorry.”
You hate how your heart stutters at the words. How part of you wants to fall into him. How badly you want it to be real.
So you nod.
You lie.
“Okay.”
His relief is instant. He pulls you closer, arms looping around your waist. His chin rests atop your head like nothing happened.
Like your chest isn’t caving in.
You let yourself be held.
And you feel sick.
═════ Next Day – Hufflepuff Common Room ═════
The fire crackled lazily, casting soft amber light across the walls. It was supposed to feel warm. Safe. Home.
Instead, the silence after your words landed like a curse.
“I forgave him,” you say quietly, barely above a whisper.
There’s a beat of stillness before Felix jerks up from where he’s sitting on the couch beside Liam.
“WHAT.”
Felix’s voice shot through the cozy warmth of the Hufflepuff common room like a spell misfire. Heads turned. Charlotte almost dropped her mug. Noor whipped around from where she sat curled up with a book, eyes already narrowing into lethal slits.
You stood frozen by the fireplace, scarf still looped around your neck. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Felix was on his feet now, storming toward you with all the fury of a golden retriever pushed past its limit.
“No. No no no. Y/N, please—tell me you’re not serious.”
You shifted awkwardly on your feet, chewing the inside of your cheek.
“I forgave him,” you said softly.
Charlotte gasped like you’d just confessed to murder. Noor straight-up dropped her book and stood.
“You what?”
“I—he apologized,” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “He said it was just… a moment. That it didn’t mean anything.”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Noor hissed, storming toward you like she was going to physically shake the sense into your brain.
“Again?!” Charlotte squeaked, stepping up beside you, her fingers tangling with yours automatically. “Y/N, sweetheart, again? How many times has it been now?”
“I don’t know,” you whispered.
“Exactly!” Noor snapped, arms crossed so tightly across her chest it looked like she was holding herself back from throwing hands. “You don’t even know anymore. That’s how normal this shit has become for you!”
You winced.
Felix exhaled shakily. “Y/N… we talked about this. You said last time was the last time. You were crying in my arms, remember? You said it felt like you were being torn apart.”
Charlotte nodded furiously. “You said he made you feel like a placeholder. That he didn’t see you anymore.”
Your lip trembled. “He was sorry.”
“He’s ALWAYS sorry!” Noor exploded, her voice breaking. “Sorry means fucking nothing if you keep doing the same thing over and over again. That’s not remorse, that’s manipulation.”
Liam was seated on the windowsill nearby, arms folded, eyes half-lidded and sharp. He hadn’t spoken yet—but now he did, cool and calm and terrifying.
“You know what’s wild?” he said, voice low. “He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. Like he knows you’ll forgive him. Like he’s testing how far he can push you before you finally break.”
Charlotte let out a tiny sob, still holding your hand. “Please… just tell me this is some kind of prank. You didn’t really go back to him. You can’t.”
You looked down at your feet.
The floor was spinning.
Felix gently touched your shoulder, his voice trembling. “He didn’t even run after you last time. Do you remember that? You walked out of the Three Broomsticks shaking, and he just stayed there. Didn’t call. Didn’t look. Didn’t care.”
“He was drunk,” you said weakly.
Noor laughed—a hollow, bitter thing. “He’s always drunk. He’s always something. And you always have a damn excuse ready for him.”
“I love him,” you snapped, voice cracking.
Silence.
Charlotte’s bottom lip quivered. Felix looked like he’d been physically slapped. Noor just stared.
“You love him,” Noor repeated slowly. “Does he love you?”
“…He says he does.”
“But do you feel it?”
You blinked back tears.
Felix stepped in, his eyes glassy now too. “Y/N. Loving someone doesn’t mean letting them wreck you. It’s not supposed to hurt like this. You’re not supposed to be afraid of being forgotten.”
You shook your head. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then why,” Noor whispered, “do you keep trying to convince yourself?”
The words gutted you.
Charlotte wrapped her arms around you, tucking her chin into your shoulder. “You’re the best person I know,” she said, her voice muffled. “You bring everyone cookies when they’re sad. You know the difference between people’s fake smiles and real ones. You remember birthdays. You remembered mine when my parents didn’t.”
Your tears finally spilled over.
“And he treats you like you’re disposable,” Felix finished softly. “You deserve a love that picks you back up, not one that pushes you to the floor.”
You looked up at all of them.
Felix, shaking. Noor, fuming. Charlotte, teary-eyed and clinging. Liam, silent but furious.
You felt so, so tired.
“I know it looks bad,” you whispered. “I know he’s done horrible things. I know all of you hate him. But I… I see something in him.”
Noor rolled her eyes so hard she almost collapsed. “You see a fantasy.”
“He could change,” you insisted, voice hoarse.
“He won’t,” Liam said simply.
Charlotte just held you tighter.
“He could,” you repeated, even weaker now.
They didn’t speak.
They just looked at you.
All four of them, in their own ways, breaking in front of you because they couldn’t stand to see you breaking anymore.
“I just… I believe in second chances,” you whispered. “People deserve them.”
“And what about you?” Noor demanded. “When do you get your second chance? When do you stop bleeding for someone who won’t even notice the stain?”
You let the silence sit between all of you.
Felix touched your hand. “Please… don’t do this to yourself again.”
Your throat closed up. You bit down hard on your tongue.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
Charlotte looked like she might cry again. Noor looked like she might murder someone. Liam just stood and left the room without a word.
Felix squeezed your hand tighter.
“You can’t,” he murmured, voice breaking now too. “You can’t keep doing this.”
And you didn’t answer.
Because you knew you would.
Again.
══════ Later That Night – Slytherin Dormitories ══════
You slip into Theodore’s room like a ghost. You always do.
Your presence is barely a whisper, barely a breath in the chilled air. The green glow of the enchanted lanterns casts shadows across the stone walls, making everything feel colder than it should. He’s sprawled across his bed, legs crossed at the ankle, flipping lazily through a magazine he probably doesn’t care about.
He doesn’t look surprised to see you. He never is.
He just lifts his gaze lazily and smirks like nothing happened earlier. Like your heart didn’t drop into your stomach the moment you saw him with someone else.
“Hey,” he says, like it’s nothing.
“Hey,” you whisper, stepping closer, fingers clutching the hem of your sweater to keep them from shaking.
You hover for a moment, waiting for… something. A gesture. An apology. An invitation. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t say another word—so you crawl onto the bed beside him, careful not to touch too much, not to hope too loudly.
He tosses the magazine onto the nightstand and finally reaches out, hand resting lazily on your waist like you’re just another accessory to his evening. Like your presence is a background comfort, not a choice he makes.
“You okay?” he asks, voice bored. “Your little group looked like they were about to explode earlier in the Great Hall.”
You force a small smile, your fingers tugging at the edge of his blanket. “They’re just worried.”
He scoffs softly. “They’re always worried. It’s exhausting.”
“They don’t understand you like I do,” you say quietly, the words like pins in your throat.
Theodore chuckles, low and humorless. “They don’t like me, is more accurate.”
“They love me,” you say instead, voice shrinking.
He shrugs. “They love you too much. It’s annoying.”
You glance away. That shouldn't sting, but it does. Your friends loving you shouldn’t be framed like a flaw.
He shifts slightly, arms open, and you take that as your cue. You move toward him automatically—like muscle memory, like reflex, like addiction. His arms wrap around you loosely, and you bury your face into his chest.
He’s warm. He always is. It’s what makes this so hard.
“I don’t want to fight,” you whisper against the fabric of his shirt.
“We’re not fighting,” he mutters, like the thought of arguing is beneath him. “You’re here. That’s all that matters, right?”
You nod against him. You lie again. Because what else are you supposed to do?
His fingers trail up your back in lazy strokes, more out of habit than affection. He doesn’t kiss your forehead. Doesn’t whisper that he’s sorry. Doesn’t even hold you tight.
But you hold onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you from shattering. Because for some reason, he still feels like home—even if he’s the one burning the foundation.
His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear.
Yours is breaking.
You woke up early today.
Which was rare. You weren’t a morning person by any means. You were the type who groaned when the sun peeked through the curtains, who clung to your pillow like a lifeline, who mumbled incoherent curses when someone dared to open a window before breakfast. But this morning—this morning was different.
The dormitory was still cloaked in sleepy darkness, only touched by the faintest blue light of dawn leaking in through the frost-rimmed windows. You could hear the soft rustle of bedsheets, the slow breathing of your housemates, and the gentle crackle of the low-burning fireplace in the corner. The world hadn’t quite woken up yet.
But you had.
Your hands moved slowly as you slipped out of bed, careful not to make noise. You didn’t even use your wand—just lit a lantern with your fingers trembling from the cold and from something else you couldn’t name. Not nervousness. Not quite excitement.
Hope.
Hope had a funny way of blooming in your chest like a stubborn flower, even after all the storms.
You padded across the room, still in your socks, and carefully pulled Theodore’s sweater out of the drawer. The dark green one. The one he always let you steal, even if he teased you about it. The one that hung a little too loose on you, made you feel small in a good way, like you could disappear into something that smelled like him. You pressed your nose to the collar for a second. Just a second. Just enough to feel warm.
Then, instead of putting it on like usual, you folded it. Slowly. Deliberately. You smoothed out every wrinkle with your palms and laid it on your bed like it was something sacred. Something meaningful. A quiet ritual between lovers. Or… almost lovers. Or whatever you and Theo were these days.
Next, you reached for the scarf.
Your scarf.
It was your favorite one—the black one you stitched gold stars into last winter when you were bored during the holidays. You’d worn it through the first snow and the second. And the first time Theo had seen it, he’d grinned and pulled it up over your nose and said, “You look adorable, you know that?” like it was a fact, not a compliment. That scarf had stayed with you through every fight, every make-up kiss, every teary apology. It was yours.
But this morning, you wanted him to have it.
You wrapped it gently, folding the ends over each other like you were tucking in a blanket. Then you reached into your drawer, pulled out a tiny piece of parchment, and started writing.
“For after Quidditch. Thought you might be cold. Don’t be late. I miss you already.”
You stared at the note. Bit your lip. Your handwriting looked shaky. Would he think it was clingy? Would he laugh?
You almost crumpled it.
Almost.
But you didn’t.
You slipped it between the folds of the scarf. Then you held the whole bundle against your chest for a few seconds, breathing in deeply like maybe if you held it close enough, it would carry some part of your love with it.
You looked at the clock. Too early still. The others were asleep. The whole castle felt like it was holding its breath.
So were you.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, scarf around your neck, cheeks pink from the cold that leaked in through the stones. Your lips were chapped, your hair a little messy, but there was a glow in your eyes you hadn’t seen in a while. You looked… hopeful.
Maybe this time…
Maybe this time he wouldn’t forget.
Maybe this time he’d meet you by the greenhouse like he promised.
Maybe this time he’d wrap the scarf around his neck and smile and say thank you and hold your hand on the walk to Hogsmeade.
Maybe this time he’d see how much you loved him.
You smiled. Nervous. Excited. A little dizzy with it.
It wasn’t even your anniversary or anything—it was just one of those days where your heart was stupidly full, and you thought, Maybe this time, he’ll meet me halfway.
You waited for him after class. Right outside the pitch.
Even though the wind had already started to pick up and the air carried that sharp, icy warning of winter biting at your cheeks. The sky was grey, blanketed by thick clouds that looked like they might drop snow at any second.
Still, you stood there—gloved hands tucked into your sleeves, rocking on your heels for warmth.
You were early. Of course you were.
You liked the feeling of anticipation. The hope that maybe this time, when practice ended, he’d walk straight over. Maybe this time, he’d be smiling just for you. Not half-tired or distracted. Not already texting someone else. Just you.
You shifted the little paper bag in your arms, trying not to crumple it. Inside: a sandwich you’d made during breakfast. His favorite—peanut butter and strawberry jam, crusts carefully trimmed off because he always wrinkled his nose at them. You’d wrapped it up with parchment and tied it with twine. You even doodled a tiny snake on the note card stuck inside:
"Post-practice fuel. Don’t be late, sleepyhead."
You hugged the bag to your chest.
The wind picked up again, ruffling your scarf. You pulled it tighter. The black one with tiny, gold embroidered stars along the edges—messily stitched by hand, but charming in its imperfection. You remembered staying up late in your dorm to finish it. Needle pricks on your fingers, your tongue poking out in concentration.
He always said you looked cute when you were focused. Said he liked that scarf best.
That’s why you brought it. Just in case he forgot his.
Because he always forgot his.
You smiled softly to yourself, pressing your nose into the collar of your coat. The ache in your hands didn’t matter. The cold didn’t matter. Not if he showed up this time.
Not if he took your hand like he promised.
Not if he wore the scarf and said, “You spoil me.”
Not if he kissed your forehead and muttered something about how you were too good for him—but still leaned into your touch like he needed it.
You waited.
And waited.
You checked your watch. Checked the time. Checked it again.
The ache in your arms started to settle. A kind of disappointed heaviness.
The paper bag crinkled as you hugged it tighter.
The sandwich inside was still warm.
His favorite.
────────────────
It was 4 PM when practice ended.
You knew because you’d been staring at your watch since 3:45. You wanted to be early. You wanted to be the first thing he saw when he came out—hands tucked into your sleeves, scarf fluttering slightly, cheeks pink from the cold, holding his favorite sandwich like some ridiculous rom-com character.
One by one, the other players started trickling off the field.
Laughter. Shouts. Muddy footprints.
But no Theodore.
You stood up straighter. Smoothed your sleeves. Brushed snow off the bench.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then twenty.
You shifted from foot to foot, your shoes wet now. The grass had frozen beneath you, crisp with frost, and you could feel the chill sneaking into your socks.
You rubbed your hands together. Checked your watch again.
Still no sign.
Maybe he was just taking a while. Maybe he was showering. Maybe he—
“Y/N?”
You turned your head so fast your neck cracked.
But it wasn’t him.
It was Avery—not Liam, but another player from the team. He smiled politely. “You waiting for Theo?”
You nodded, hopeful.
He blinked. “He left, like, twenty minutes ago. Said he had something to do.”
Your heart dropped. “Oh. Um. Okay. Thanks.”
He waved, oblivious, and jogged off toward the castle.
You slowly sat back down.
Your fingers trembled as you placed the sandwich bag in your lap. The wind picked up, tugging at the ends of your scarf like even the air wanted you to go home.
But you stayed.
You told yourself maybe Avery was wrong. Maybe Theodore was just around the corner. Maybe he’d come running, breathless, apologetic, eyes soft with guilt and wanting.
You waited until your toes stopped feeling like toes.
Your phone buzzed once. Then again.
You didn’t check it.
The snow started falling at 5:17.
Thin flakes at first. Then thicker.
You tried to curl into yourself, your scarf wrapped tight around your face.
He’s coming.
He promised.
He wouldn’t forget you. Not this time.
You weren’t angry.
You were just so, so tired.
At 6:07, the Howler arrived.
“IF YOU’RE STILL OUTSIDE, Y/N, I’M GOING TO SCREAM—NO—ACTUALLY—I’M COMING TO FIND YOU, I SWEAR—”
Charlotte’s voice was shrill through the air, echoing off the trees and glass panes of the greenhouse.
You blinked slowly. The tip of your nose was numb.
The greenhouse door slammed open so hard it rattled on its hinges.
“No fucking way.”
Noor stormed out like the wrath of God in a crimson trench coat. You’d never seen her run before—she always walked like she was above the world—but this time? She sprinted.
“Y/N. Are you fucking kidding me?”
You managed a weak smile. “Hey, Noor.”
“Don’t ‘Hey Noor’ me, what the hell are you doing out here?” she barked, skidding to a stop in front of you. “Have you LOST your mind?”
“I was just waiting—”
“For him?” she snarled, eyes wild. “It’s fucking SNOWING, Y/N. You’re shaking like a leaf, your lips are blue, and you’re out here because that bastard forgot about you AGAIN?!”
You flinched, and she immediately froze.
Her voice dropped, but not the fury. It just simmered now—low, dangerous.
“I swear to Merlin, I will drag him by the roots of his pretty little hair and set him on fire.”
You whispered, “Please don’t…”
She crouched down, her coat rustling. Her hands didn’t touch you, not yet, but they hovered—furious and protective all at once. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m okay,” you said. “He probably just got caught up in something.”
Her lip curled. “Yeah. Probably someone else’s bed.”
You winced.
She saw it. And her rage cracked into something uglier. Not softer. Just hurt.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” she whispered. “Why do you let him?”
Before you could answer, more footsteps—Felix, Charlotte, Liam.
Felix’s face was red from running. “Found them?”
“YEAH,” Noor yelled over her shoulder. “I FOUND THEM FREEZING TO DEATH BECAUSE THEIR DUMBASS BOYFRIEND BAILED. AGAIN.”
Charlotte gasped and ran to you. “Oh my god. Y/N—your hands are like ICE!”
Felix was already pulling out the emergency blanket from his bag like he knew this would happen. “I brought this just in case. Here.”
You didn’t resist. You let them wrap it around you.
You let Charlotte fuss over your hair, and Felix pat your back, and Liam stand behind them like a shadow ready to burn the world down.
But you didn’t look at them.
You looked at the path leading back to the castle.
Waiting.
Still hoping.
And that made something inside you crack.
══════ Later That Night. ══════
You didn’t cry.
You just laid in bed, curled on your side, your arms wrapped around your own middle like maybe that would stop your ribs from cracking inward. The blanket was too warm, the silence too loud. Every sound from outside—every laugh, every pair of footsteps—made you tense.
The sandwich was still in the paper bag. Slightly flattened. The scarf you wore that day was now crumpled next to it, still carrying the faint warmth of your hope.
You stared at the ceiling for hours, eyes unfocused.
You hadn’t said a word since you came back.
No one forced you to.
But you weren’t alone. You never were. You could feel them.
Noor, Charlotte, Felix, and Liam—your constants.
Felix had brought you hot cocoa three times. You didn’t touch any of them. The last one had gone cold.
Charlotte curled up on the edge of your bed, rubbing slow circles on your back with the gentlest fingers, murmuring soft things like, “You’re okay. I’m here. Just breathe with me, okay?”
You didn’t respond.
Liam had taken Felix’s spot when he left to get more tea, silent as always, rubbing the back of his boyfriend’s neck while staring out at the dormitory door like he was daring Theodore to walk through it.
And Noor?
Noor was pacing.
Her boots thudded against the common room floor, her cloak swishing behind her, her jaw clenched like she was physically restraining herself from grabbing her wand and storming into the Slytherin dorms with murder in her eyes.
“Coward,” she muttered. “Fucking coward.”
Charlotte gave her a look, silently asking her to keep her voice down.
Noor didn’t care.
“Are we serious right now?” she hissed. “He stood them up. Again. He does this every time. And you’re all just sitting here?”
“Noor,” Felix warned softly.
“No, don’t you ‘Noor’ me, Felix,” she snapped. “I’m done playing quiet for the sake of their feelings. I’m DONE watching them get chewed up and spat out like they’re nothing!”
Her voice cracked.
Yours didn’t move.
Noor stepped closer, crouching beside your bed. “Y/N,” she said, lower now, but her voice still trembled with barely-suppressed rage. “You waited in the freezing cold for three hours. With a sandwich. A scarf. A fucking card. You could’ve gotten sick. You could’ve passed out. You didn’t even eat. And he didn’t show up. Again.”
Still, you said nothing.
Charlotte looked over her shoulder. “Noor…”
“No. No, they need to hear this. He doesn’t care, Y/N. He’s never going to care. You’re not some charity case he’s going to learn to love just because you’re sweet and soft and wait around. He’s a waste of skin. He’s a liar, and he’s cruel, and I swear to Merlin, if I see him near you again—”
“Noor,” Liam said firmly.
She shut up. Barely. Her fists still trembled at her sides.
She turned back to you.
You weren’t crying. That made it worse.
She dropped to her knees, grabbed your hand gently—almost too gently for how furious she looked—and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m yelling. But I love you, okay? You’re my person. You’re one of the only ones I give a shit about. And it kills me watching you act like he loves you back.”
You didn’t squeeze her hand.
You didn’t pull away either.
You just laid there.
Quiet.
Staring at the door.
Waiting.
═════ The Next Day ═════
You found him sitting at the edge of the Slytherin table at breakfast.
Laughing.
Grinning.
Like nothing happened.
He was surrounded by his usual circle—Mattheo tossing bits of toast at Blaise, who dodged lazily while sipping his coffee. Draco was fixing his cufflinks, already looking bored. Pansy was applying lip gloss with a charm-enhanced mirror, and Lorenzo was retelling some story about a sixth year falling into the lake. Astoria sat at the end, quiet, eyes distant as she picked at her eggs.
You approached slowly, scarf folded in your hands, heart thudding so hard it echoed in your ears.
Theodore looked up mid-bite, smirk curling his lips. “Hey,” he said casually, like he hadn’t completely forgotten about you.
Like he hadn’t left you standing in the cold with a sandwich and a hopeful smile.
“Can we talk?” you asked.
Mattheo snorted. “Oop. Trouble in paradise?”
You ignored him.
Theodore leaned back on the bench, all nonchalant charm and unbothered attitude. “What’s up?”
You glanced around. Everyone was watching.
Pansy raised a brow. Blaise looked away. Astoria’s hand froze mid-slice of toast.
You swallowed the tightness in your throat. “You didn’t come yesterday.”
Theodore blinked. “Oh. Right.”
Just oh. Like he’d forgotten his textbooks. Not you.
You waited.
Draco glanced at Theodore, then at you, and let out a quiet exhale like he already knew where this was going.
Theodore scratched his neck, still chewing. “Yeah, I got caught up in something.”
“What?” you asked. Voice small. Already crumbling.
“Dunno. Just… stuff.”
You stared at him.
He stared back, unbothered.
Mattheo chuckled under his breath. “Well, that clears it up.”
Lorenzo elbowed him. “Shut up, man.”
Astoria didn’t look at anyone. She just kept slowly slicing her toast into perfect, untouched squares.
“Are you mad?” Theodore asked, like you were being unreasonable.
“I’m not mad,” you said. And it was true. You were beyond mad. You were tired.
“You look mad,” he said, laughing a little.
“I’m not,” you repeated, even though your throat burned.
He rolled his eyes. “Merlin, you’re being dramatic again.”
That hit.
That hit so hard it made you take a half step back.
And not a single one of them said anything.
Not even Astoria.
You tried to hold it together. You held out the scarf, neatly folded. “I made this for you.”
He took it, blinked at it. Turned it over in his hands like it was a trinket someone gave him out of obligation.
“Yeah?” he said. “Cute.”
That was it.
Mattheo muttered something under his breath—probably mocking.
You tried not to cry.
You waited for him to reach out, to thank you, to care.
He didn’t.
Instead, he glanced over your shoulder and said, “I’ll see you later, yeah? I’ve got to meet someone.”
Your stomach twisted.
Mattheo raised a brow. “Don’t you already have someone?”
Blaise choked on his drink. “He means someone else,” he said with a smirk.
Lorenzo hissed, “Guys—”
Draco didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, pity on his face. The kind that hurt worse than anything else.
Pansy popped her lips and turned away.
And Astoria?
She finally looked up at you.
Just for a second.
And in that second, you saw it. The guilt. The regret.
The part of her that knew.
But she said nothing.
She turned her face away.
And you?
You didn’t ask who Theodore was going to meet.
You didn’t want to know.
══════ That Night – Hufflepuff Common Room ══════
You sat curled up in the corner of the oversized couch, knees drawn to your chest, the heavy common room blanket wrapped around you like it could stitch your cracks back together. The fire crackled lazily across the room, casting warm light against the amber-stained walls—but none of it reached your eyes.
Charlotte lay stretched across the couch beside you, her head resting carefully on your thigh, one arm curled around your waist like she could hold your sadness in place if she hugged tight enough. Her hair smelled like lavender and peppermint. She didn’t say anything. Just held you.
Felix sat on the floor near your feet, leaning against the couch, worry crinkling the corners of his soft brown eyes. He looked up at you every few seconds—his hand resting lightly on your ankle through the blanket like a silent lifeline. In his other hand was a steaming mug of cinnamon hot cocoa. He kept offering it without words, and every time you shook your head, his smile dropped a little lower.
Liam was stretched out beside him on the rug, long legs crossed lazily. One of his hands rested on Felix’s thigh, fingers drawing idle patterns, while the other toyed with the hem of Felix’s sleeve. His eyes never left the fire, but he hadn’t stopped listening for a second. His jaw clenched every time your breath caught.
Noor paced behind the couch. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her boots thudded softly against the rug, her red coat draped over her shoulders like she hadn’t even bothered to take it off when she rushed inside. Arms crossed tight. Eyes furious. Face unreadable in the dim light—until she stopped. Planted herself behind you. Stared down at your slouched form like she was trying not to break something.
You hadn't said a word since you'd come in.
No one had to ask what happened.
They knew.
Felix shifted a little closer. “Y/N…”
Your eyes didn’t move from the fire. Your voice, when it came, was hoarse. “I waited.”
Silence.
You swallowed. Your hand gripped the blanket tighter around your knees. “He didn’t come.”
Charlotte’s arms tightened around your middle. Her voice trembled when she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
Noor scoffed sharply. “Of course he didn’t.”
You winced.
Felix reached up and gently brushed your wrist. “You should’ve told us sooner.”
“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” you murmured.
That made Charlotte sit up properly, her hand cupping your cheek as she turned your face toward her. “You’re never a bother.”
“She’s right,” Felix added, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Noor’s voice was flat. “You shouldn’t have to go through this at all.”
Liam looked up. “We told you he wouldn’t show.”
You finally looked down at your lap. “I thought he would this time.”
Noor’s pacing picked up again. “You always think he will. And he never does.”
“It was just one afternoon—”
“Stop defending him,” she snapped, spinning on her heel. Her dark eyes blazed. “He’s not worth defending.”
You shrank into yourself.
Charlotte reached for your hand. “Y/N, no one’s blaming you. We just hate seeing you hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.”
No one believed you.
Felix whispered, “You’re allowed to be.”
“I said I’m not.”
Silence. Thick. Cold. Uncomfortable.
Liam sighed quietly and shifted closer to Felix, resting his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “He’s not going to change, Y/N. You know that, right?”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Noor slammed her hands on the back of the couch. “Well, we’re going to.”
Charlotte flinched. Felix looked up, startled.
You blinked, slowly.
Noor’s voice cracked. Just a bit. “You keep letting him do this to you. And we’re the ones who have to hold you together afterward. Again. And again. And again.”
You said nothing.
She stepped around the couch this time. Stood in front of you. Eyes locked on yours.
“Do you know how hard it is to watch someone you care about willingly drown?”
Your lower lip trembled.
Felix’s hand slid into yours.
Charlotte whispered, “Please say something.”
But you didn’t.
You couldn’t.
You just sat there. Breathing quietly. Tears gathering but refusing to fall.
Charlotte laid her head back against your shoulder and held your hand tighter. Felix leaned against your leg. Liam reached over and pulled the blanket higher around your shoulders like a big brother trying to protect you from the world. Noor stayed standing. Watching.
You finally exhaled. A shaky, hollow sound.
No one spoke after that.
Not until minutes later, when your head finally dropped onto Charlotte’s and your eyes fluttered shut.
Then, in the soft flicker of firelight, Noor turned away from you and stared at the dancing flames.
Her voice was so quiet you barely caught it:
“…He doesn’t deserve you.”
Your hands trembled as you fastened the little bow on the photo album.
You had been working on it for weeks—meticulously printing photos in the library, slipping them into the pages with protective sheets so they wouldn’t wrinkle. You even redid the cover three separate times because the first paper creased, and the second one didn’t feel right. This one, though—this one was perfect. A soft, velvety parchment gold, warm to the touch, like how he used to feel when he'd pull you into his chest on cold mornings.
You picked the ribbon carefully too. First it was silver, then green, then finally a golden thread laced with hints of forest satin—your house and his, tied together, just like you wanted to believe you were. It wasn’t just a bow. It was a symbol. A fragile little knot you kept trying to make hold everything together.
And it wouldn’t tie properly.
You undid it again. Retied it with slow, shaking fingers. You focused on making the loops symmetrical, tugging them into place like you could control the outcome if the bow was perfect enough. Tight enough. Beautiful enough. Like if you just tied it right, maybe he’d finally see all the love you had left to give him.
You whispered under your breath, more to yourself than anything else, “Okay… just one more time. Make it nice. He’ll notice this time.”
Your lips tugged into the faintest smile, trembling. “He likes green. Right? Or… wait, maybe the gold looked better on his desk… it’ll match his eyes. Maybe that’ll make him—”
You stopped. Shook your head. “No. Don’t think like that. He’s going to love it. Of course he will.”
You stared down at the album when you finished. Your name was written in tiny cursive in the bottom right corner of the first page, right beneath a caption: “Here’s to everything I remember for both of us.”
You ran your fingers over the cover slowly, like you were trying to press the warmth of your hands into it. Into him.
You flipped through it again. Just to make sure.
The first page: a photo of you and Theodore on the Hogwarts Express—he was asleep with his head on your shoulder. You were smiling into the camera. You remembered how warm he was that day. How he held your hand under the table at lunch.
“I think this was the day I started loving him,” you murmured to no one. “Or maybe it was the day before. Doesn’t matter. I think he loved me that day too.”
The next page: your first Hogsmeade trip. A dried candy wrapper tucked into the corner. A note scribbled in pencil beside it: “You said it tasted like soap. You still ate the whole thing.”
You laughed softly, but it cracked halfway out. “He said I was dramatic,” you said, your voice barely a breath. “But he smiled the whole time… that has to count for something, right?”
Each page bled with memory. The first snowfall you watched together from the Astronomy Tower. The stolen kiss in the Potions classroom. A blurry picture of him laughing—one of the only ones where his guard was down.
You pressed your fingers to that page and closed your eyes.
“I wish you still laughed like this around me…”
There were dried flowers glued in the margins—petals you’d stolen from the Greenhouse during spring. Wrinkled receipts from Honeydukes. A ticket stub from a Quidditch match. Wrapping paper he tore from a gift you gave him months ago, smoothed out and tucked into a pocket.
You paused at a torn-out page from your Transfiguration notebook. Scribbled on the back of it was a doodle—just a tiny little sketch he made of you, passed across the table during a boring lecture.
You smiled. Soft. Fond. Fragile.
“He said he was awful at drawing…” You brushed your thumb across the paper. “But he tried. He tried that day.”
Your throat tightened.
You looked at the rest of the album. At everything you gathered. Everything you glued and wrote and colored and built just to remind him.
Every inch of the album was a love letter without words. A thousand little whispers bound in ink, petals, and glue. A prayer that he might look through these pages and remember. Not just the moments—but how deeply you had loved him through all of them.
You sat back, holding the album in your lap. Your fingers curled around the edges as you whispered:
“…I hope he keeps this forever.”
Because in your heart, you already knew.
This might be the last thing he ever gets from you.
You hoped it would be enough.
You hoped he’d remember.
Of you.
══════ The day passed. ══════
You arrived at the Astronomy Tower just past noon, earlier than you should have, heart hammering in your chest with that nervous kind of excitement that only love—real love—could bring.
You had worn your best coat. The one he said made you look “stupidly huggable.” Underneath it was the soft sweater he left in your dorm once, the one that still smelled faintly like his cologne. You hadn’t even told him you still had it.
The gift—your photo album—was tucked safely into your bag. Your hands had spent the entire night before tying the ribbon and redoing it again and again until it sat perfectly. You kept peeking at it throughout the day like it might fall apart without your attention.
You told yourself he’d come.
He said he would.
“Right after practice,” he promised that morning, hand brushing against yours. “The tower, yeah?”
You remembered the way he smiled when he said it—casual, rushed, but familiar.
Familiar enough to believe in.
So you waited.
You leaned against the cool stone railing, watching the students buzz around like ants below. The castle looked beautiful from up here—frost dusting the rooftops, snow starting to fall in gentle flakes. You told yourself that this was going to be the perfect memory. That tonight, when he showed up, you’d give him the album and maybe—just maybe—he’d hold you like he used to. Kiss your forehead. Tell you he was sorry for being distant lately.
Maybe he’d stay.
Time passed.
The sky shifted from pale gold to steel grey. The shadows stretched longer. You traced your name into the thin layer of frost on the railing. Then his. Then a little heart. You smiled at it, even though it came out crooked. The cold made your fingers stiff.
He was probably just late.
You checked the time again.
And again.
You paced a little. Sat down. Stood up. Walked around the tower once. Rechecked your bag to make sure the album hadn’t bent. Tucked the ribbon again. Re-tied it.
Every little movement felt like a ritual to ward off disappointment.
By the time the sky turned blue-black and the first stars started to peek through the clouds, you were still there.
You tried to convince yourself he must’ve forgotten the time. Maybe he had to shower. Maybe he was changing. Maybe he had to stop by the library.
Maybe.
Maybe.
But your fingers were numb now, and the wind had started to bite through the layers of your scarf. Your cheeks stung. You couldn’t feel your toes. Your knees ached from standing too long.
And still—you stayed.
Even when the castle bell chimed once. Then twice.
Even when the candles in the windows began to flicker out.
Even when your chest felt hollow and heavy and achingly quiet.
You waited.
And waited.
But Theodore never came.
You walked back in silence.
It wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t calm.
It was the kind of silence that rang in your ears like a scream held just behind your teeth. The kind that filled your chest with a weight so crushing, so thick, it made your lungs burn. Your boots echoed against the stone corridor, each footfall slower than the last, like your legs were dragging the ruins of your heart behind them.
The Astronomy Tower disappeared behind you, swallowed by distance and dark. The wind from the high ledges had bitten at your cheeks, left your fingers trembling, but you hadn’t felt it then.
You didn’t feel much of anything now.
Only cold. And that wasn’t the kind of cold you could fix with fire.
The gift was still in your hands.
A soft package wrapped in silver paper, cradled like it mattered. Like it was still worth something. You stared at it as you walked—at the way the ribbon had frayed from how tightly you’d clutched it all day. The green and gold thread had come undone at one corner, now dragging behind like a wounded limb.
You couldn’t feel your fingers anymore.
You couldn’t feel your face.
You couldn't even feel your own name sitting behind your tongue.
You turned a corner, head low, barely noticing the flicker of torchlight trailing across the old stone walls. The castle groaned quietly around you, an old heartbeat that had no sympathy left to offer.
It was supposed to be a special night.
Just you and Theodore. Like he said. Like he promised.
He told you this morning, voice rough with sleep, lips brushing your forehead as he tugged on his Quidditch gloves, “After practice. Astronomy Tower. I won’t be late.”
You had believed him.
Because of course you did.
You always did.
You let out a breath that shook more than it should have.
Then—laughter.
Soft. Muffled. Familiar.
It slipped through the crack in a nearby classroom door.
You paused.
It was late. Most students were already in their dorms. The halls had emptied hours ago.
But that voice—
Theodore.
You knew it like the inside of your own heart.
You didn’t mean to stop.
But you did.
You didn’t mean to listen.
But you heard your name.
And your body turned cold all over again.
“Honestly?” Theodore’s voice was relaxed, amused. “I don’t even know why I’m still with them.”
Your knees nearly buckled.
There was a pause, then a girl’s giggle followed. One you didn’t recognize.
“They’re kind of clingy, aren’t they?” she said, breathy.
“Kind of?” Pansy’s voice drawled next, sharp as ever. “They follow Theodore around like a damn puppy. Always smiling like an idiot. It’s actually sad.”
“They made you something once, right?” Mattheo added lazily. “That… what was it? A journal?”
“A scrapbook,” Theodore said, laughing now. “With glitter. Pressed flowers. Little notes in the margins like, ‘Our first Hogsmeade date’ and ‘You looked so beautiful this day!’ It was like a six-year-old made it.”
Another chorus of laughter.
You stood still in the hallway, your mouth parted slightly, your eyes locked on the floor like if you stared hard enough, it would swallow you whole.
“They cried last week, didn’t they?” Mattheo added. “When you skipped that library thing.”
“Oh, yeah,” Theodore said. “Tried to act chill but you could see it all over their face. They were devastated. Honestly? It's too easy.”
Someone gasped between laughs.
“Why don’t you just end it?” the girl asked. Her voice was light. Careless. Like the words didn’t carry the weight of your entire world.
A silence.
Then Theodore said, clear as glass,
“Because they’ll always take me back.”
You didn’t move.
You didn’t cry.
You didn’t scream.
Your feet felt bolted to the floor, your lungs tight and burning. Your ears rang, like the laughter echoing behind that door was bouncing inside your skull.
And your heart—
You felt it.
Not figuratively.
Not like a metaphor.
You physically felt something snap inside your chest. Like a delicate thread had been pulled taut too many times and this was the final pull. The one that broke it clean.
The world blurred around the edges, vision going distant. Your fingers loosened around the gift. The silver paper crinkled slightly as it slipped lower in your grasp.
The ribbon finally fell off.
It floated to the floor like a dead thing.
You didn’t pick it up.
You didn’t open the door. You didn’t confront him. You didn’t say his name. You didn’t ask why.
Because you already knew.
You knew he had never planned to come.
You knew he’d been laughing before you even left the tower.
You knew the version of Theodore you loved didn’t exist anymore—maybe never did.
So you did the only thing you could.
You turned.
And walked away.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
Not with tears.
You just walked. Quietly. Slowly. Head down. Heart shattered. Gift cradled like a funeral bouquet in your arms.
By the time you reached the Hufflepuff common room, your eyes were glassy, but dry.
Your friends were already inside.
You didn’t say anything as you walked past them.
Not a word.
Not a glance.
You just curled up in your bed, facing the wall.
The photo album still clutched in your hands.
Your scarf still tied tight.
And your heart, for the first time—
Empty.
══════The next day, Great Hall.══════
Breakfast at Hogwarts was loud. Always.
Clattering plates, floating toast racks, enchanted snow drifting lazily from the bewitched ceiling. Students piled into the Great Hall with sleepy eyes and messy hair, laughing, trading notes, stealing bites off each other’s plates.
And then you walked in.
And something shifted.
No one noticed it right away—just a hush that rippled quietly across the room, like the castle itself knew something was about to break.
You didn’t flinch under the weight of the stares.
You didn’t smile.
You didn’t say hello.
You just walked.
Through the Hufflepuff table.
Past the Ravenclaws.
Down the path between Gryffindors and Slytherins—until you stood at the end of his table.
Theodore Nott.
His laughter faltered the moment he saw you.
He was surrounded, like always. Pansy twirling her hair beside him, Astoria whispering something to Draco. Blaise lazily chewing his toast. Mattheo talking with his mouth full. Lorenzo leaned back, sipping pumpkin juice like he owned the damn room.
Theodore looked… unbothered.
Relaxed.
Until you dropped the album into his lap.
Hard.
Wrapped in silver paper and a gold-and-green ribbon that now looked almost mocking.
He blinked. “Y/N—?”
“What’s this?” he asked.
You didn’t answer.
Not yet.
He turned it over in his hands, confusion flashing across his face.
Then: “Is this a present?”
Your voice was sharp. “It was supposed to be.”
He stared at you.
“You forgot,” you said. “Yesterday.”
His face went blank.
“Oh… right. Shit.”
You almost laughed.
But not the kind that meant joy.
You nodded to the album.
“I spent weeks on that. I stayed up after curfew cutting pages and organizing things, pressing flowers, writing little notes. Things only you would remember, if you cared.”
Now the Slytherins were silent.
Every single one of them had turned to watch.
You took a breath. “Do you want to know what the first page says?”
He didn’t respond.
“It says: You are worth the work.”
His jaw tensed.
“And I believed that. Even when you were distant. Even when you forgot to show up. Even when I waited in the cold for hours with that stupid scarf and a sandwich and a letter that I rewrote five times. I still believed it.”
Now you were raising your voice. Not yelling. But louder. Steadier.
And that’s when the rest of the room noticed.
Hermione Granger had lowered her fork mid-bite.
Ron Weasley was staring while holding a turkey leg.
Harry Potter stopped doing his Charms assignment.
Ginny Weasley froze mid-sip of pumpkin juice.
Neville Longbottom dropped his spoon into his cereal.
Cedric Diggory looked over mid-bite, fork suspended.
Angelina Johnson’s eyebrows flew up.
Lee Jordan whispered something to Katie Bell.
Lavender Brown smacked Seamus on the shoulder and motioned toward the Slytherin table.
Anthony Goldstein paused mid-page of the Daily Prophet.
Padma and Parvati Patil turned in unison.
Cho Chang slowly lowered her teacup.
Even Luna Lovegood blinked from her seat at the Ravenclaw table, dreamy expression sharpening just a bit.
You were shaking now—but you didn’t stop.
You looked right at him. Right at the boy who held your heart like it was optional.
“And you forgot,” you said. “You forgot me. Again. Like I’m just something waiting for you in the background while you play pretend with people who don’t even see you.”
“Y/N—can we please not do this here—”
“Why not?” you snapped. “Embarrassed?”
His mouth opened. Closed.
You took a step closer. “Because you should be. Everyone should see this. See you. See what it looks like to love someone who only ever takes.”
The Great Hall was dead quiet now. Even the ones who don't give a fuck about Hogwarts drama's stopped talking and turned to look.
You could hear your own breathing.
“I told myself you’d change,” you whispered. “I defended you. I lied to people I love to protect the idea of you I had in my head.”
His hands were clenched into fists.
You leaned in just enough for only him to hear—
“I can’t keep bleeding just to prove you’re worth saving.”
Theodore’s throat bobbed. His voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry.”
You exhaled slowly. “No, you’re not.”
He stood up, fast, knocking over his cup.
Still, no one moved.
“I love you,” he said, desperate now. “I messed up, I know—I’ll fix it, okay? I’ll do better.”
You didn’t blink.
“You had so many chances, Nott.”
Silence.
“I was your comfort. Your safety. Your guarantee. And you treated me like something to return to only when the others left.”
Tears slipped down your cheek. But your voice didn’t shake anymore.
“And I’m done.”
He looked stricken. “Y/N, please—”
You stepped back.
And for the final time, you smiled.
But it was hollow. A goodbye carved into a mouth that had said “I love you” too many times without hearing it back.
“I hope she was worth it.”
And you turned away.
The album slid from his lap to the ground, pages spilling, memories scattering.
The sound it made echoed louder than any argument.
The whole hall watched as you walked away.
And no one followed.
Not even him.
The silence that followed could’ve shattered the stained glass windows.
You didn’t look back.
Not when the album slipped from Theodore’s lap, pages spilling across the floor like torn pieces of your heart. Not when a girl at the Ravenclaw table let out a stunned gasp. Not when the Slytherin table went stiff with discomfort—Pansy frozen mid-hair-twirl, Astoria blinking like her brain had short-circuited.
You just walked.
Every step echoing across the marble like the ending of something sacred.
At the Gryffindor table, Seamus whispered something, but Dean elbowed him quiet. Angelina slowly lowered her fork. George looked at Fred like was that real? Cedric sat frozen at the Hufflepuff table, brows drawn, knuckles pale against the wood. Cho's mouth was slightly open, eyes following your retreating figure. Luna blinked slowly, her radish earrings still.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody even breathed.
And Theodore?
He just stood there, surrounded by the friends who once encouraged his cruelty through silence, staring at the floor like it held the answers he never looked for in you.
The album lay open now—one page revealing a photo of you both on a snowy night near the Black Lake. You were smiling, scarf around your neck, lips pink from the cold, cheeks tucked into his jacket. He was looking at you in the photo, not the camera.
Now he didn’t even look at that.
He didn’t move.
A beat passed. Then another.
And then—
“Y/N!”
Charlotte's chair scraped across the floor with a screech. She was already halfway up, napkin flying from her lap. Her whole body moved before her mind did. Her spoon clattered against a plate.
She shoved past confused students with a panic that made more than a few people stand up in concern.
“Y/N—wait—!”
Your legs were faster.
You didn’t run, but the kind of walk you had was worse. The kind that said if I stop, I’ll break. So I won’t.
You were already pushing through the massive oak doors of the Great Hall when she reached the end of the aisle.
Noor was next—standing with an expression that could burn through metal. Her fists were clenched at her sides, jaw locked. She turned once—looked straight at Theodore. Looked at him like she was about to do something unspeakable.
Then she stormed after Charlotte without a word.
Felix blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. “Oh my god—oh my god, go—go—” she said breathlessly to Liam, grabbing his wrist as he jumped from his seat.
Liam nodded once. Tightly. Quietly. Like he’d just made a silent vow to kill someone.
══════ Outside the Great Hall ══════
The air hit you like a wall.
Cold. Biting. Real.
Your breath curled out in shaky puffs, eyes unfocused, hands still trembling from adrenaline. The corridor felt enormous. Empty. Like the walls were breathing with you. Like the castle itself wanted to cry.
You made it three steps past the entrance before you collapsed onto the stone bench near the stairway. Shoulders shaking. Hands curled in your lap. No tears yet.
Just shock.
Then—
“Hey hey hey hey hey—” Felix’s voice cracked as he slid in beside you, already pulling you into his arms as he reached you first before the others. “Hey, I got you. I got you, Y/N. Please breathe.”
You gasped. Not sobbed. Gasped.
Your body refused to keep it in. You didn’t want to cry—didn’t want to give him that satisfaction—but the tears came anyway. Ugly. Raw. Violent.
And Felix didn’t let go.
He just tucked your head against his shoulder and held you like his life depended on it. “It’s okay, I got you. We’re here. It’s over. You did it. You did it, Y/N. You’re safe.”
You tried to say I’m sorry but your voice was gone.
Noor arrived seconds later. Her boots hit the floor hard, every step like a heartbeat, and the moment she saw you curled up in Felix’s arms, her whole body softened.
She sat on the other side of the bench and said nothing.
Just placed a warm hand on your knee.
And stayed.
Charlotte came next, pink scarf flying behind her like a ribbon in the wind. She dropped to her knees in front of you, instantly cupping your face with shaking hands.
“Oh, sweetheart…” Her voice broke. “You were so brave.”
You sobbed harder.
Liam crouched behind Felix, one hand on his boyfriend’s back, one on yours.
None of them said anything after that.
They didn’t need to.
They just held you.
Because you’d done it.
You’d walked away from someone you loved.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
══════ Back in the Great Hall. ══════
Theodore hadn’t moved.
His hand hovered above the torn-open album, eyes glassy, expression unreadable.
The whole table was still watching him.
Even Mattheo didn’t speak.
Draco had his arms folded, lips tight. Pansy’s face was pale. Blaise wouldn’t even look at him.
Astoria said, very quietly.
“…You deserved that.”
Theodore didn’t answer.
He just stared down.
Not at the photos. Not at the flowers. Not at the ribbon.
It’s 6:00am when your alarm goes off. You’re a light sleeper so just the buzzing of your phone near your face is enough to get you up. You turn off your alarm and look at the beautiful, half naked, boy in front of you. His soft brown curls framing his face so perfectly that it almost upsets you that anyone can look this good while sleeping. Almost.
You get up from the shared bed and head to the bathroom.
A few moments pass while brushing your teeth when you feel warm, firm hands wrap around your waist.
“Bella? Why’d you leave me?” (pretty)
His hooded eyes looking at you through the mirror.
“Sorry, Theo. We have to get ready for class.” you say, half muffled, rising out my toothpaste.
“Al diavolo le lezioni.” (fuck going to class)
You sigh, not wanting to admit how tired you are from last nights events and turn and face him.
“Fine, but you must promise we will not get off that bed for the rest of the day. You hear me?” You say jokingly poking a finger into his chest, as a light laugh escapes your throat.
“Yes ma’am,” he says picking you up and throwing you on the bed.
You lay on top of him as he gently strokes your hair until you both fall fast asleep again.
He's a smoker, and that's a fact. If you're against smoking, he'll try to do it less around you, but if he's stressed or tired, expect him to be lighting a cigarette at least once every 20-30 minutes. If you're also a smoker, he'll definitely blow the smoke into your mouth before kissing you.
He is so protective of you. If anyone shouts at you, nudges you, or god forbid hurts you, they're dead. One time, a Gryfindor in the year below called you a stupid bitch, and he must have been hospitalised for almost a week. Good thing Dumbledore likes Theo.
You are the only person in the world allowed to touch his hair. When you first got together, he would push your hands away if you tried to play with it because it reminded him of when his mother would do his hair before school. However, once he got comfortable with you, he could never get enough of it.
He is definitely the type of guy to get your full legal name tattooed on him just to show everyone how much you are a part of him. He would get it somewhere on his arm so that when he rolls up his sleeves, he wears it with pride.
When the holidays start, and school is over, it's a ritual that he goes over to your house for the first night at least. Sometimes he stays there for the entire break, especially in the summer. Your parents love him, and the first time he met your mum, he almost started crying because of how sweet she was to him and how he felt so included.
His favourite thing to do with you is cuddle before bed. He loves the feeling of your head on his chest and the way you make shakes with your fingertips on his arms or stomach. If he's extra lucky, you'll wrap one arm around his neck and play with the hair on the bottom of his neck.
When the two of you argue, he can never sleep until you sort it out with him, especially if he's done something wrong. He hates the idea of him making you upset or angry.
This man will spoil you rotten, and by spoil, I mean SPOIL. You want something, he'll buy it. He catches you looking at something for a little too long, and he's already tapped his card. He sees something that reminds him of you, it's in the bag.
Theo is so in love with you that it makes the boys feel sick, but despite all of that, they're just glad to see him happy and finally being treated right.
english isn’t my first, Implied Intimacy, Slow Burn Romance, Brother’s Best Friend
── ✦ ──
There were three unspoken rules in the Zabini household:
Firstly: Don’t touch Mum’s wine glasses. Secondly : Don’t ask about the family business. And Thirdly Don’t flirt with Theodore Nott.
That third one…
Was Blaise’s personal commandment. One he gave you when you were fourteen and he caught you staring too long at Theo during a summer party. “Stay away from Nott,” he said sharply. “He’s trouble.”
You believed him. Until Theo started smiling at you like he wanted to be your trouble.
It started small.
He came over during the holidays to see Blaise and greeted you with a “Zabini” that sounded more like temptation than a surname.
At Hogwarts, he passed you in the corridors and whispered things like: “Nice earrings.” “You dropped this… unless it’s mine now.” “You always smell like strawberries. Is that on purpose?”
It was maddening.
The slow burn. The teasing. The fact that he never actually made a move… but made sure you knew he could.
One night, you found him outside the common room. Late. Alone.
You were wearing an oversized Slytherin jumper, hair messy, a book clutched to your chest. “Studying?” he asked, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. You nodded.
“Cute,” he said with a lazy smile. “Didn’t have you pegged as the academic type.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And what type do you think I am?”
He tilted his head slightly. “The dangerous kind. The kind I shouldn’t like.” Your stomach flipped. Then he walked away like nothing had happened. You never talked about it.
Not when he sat next to you in the library a week later and read over your shoulder, chin in hand, watching your lips more than the book.
Not when he pulled you into an empty corridor after Charms just to say: “Tell Blaise to stop threatening me. I’m not scared of him.”
Not when you caught him watching you from across the Great Hall like he already imagined what you’d look like undressed.
No, you didn’t talk about it. Because Theodore Nott was your brother’s best friend. And this was reckless.
Then came the party. Slytherin dorms. Loud music. Way too much firewhisky. Blaise had vanished somewhere with Malfoy.
And Theo found you alone. “You always hide at parties?” he asked, offering you his drink.
“I’m not hiding,” you replied. “I’m observing.”
He took a sip and handed you the glass. “Poetic.”
You smirked. “Always this persistent?”
He stepped closer. Too close.
“Want me to stop?”
You froze. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t force it.
Just left the question hanging in the air.
You looked at him really looked. Messy dark hair. Sharp jaw. Those unreadable eyes that always seemed to know more than they said.
And you whispered: “No, not really.”
The kiss was inevitable. It wasn’t sweet. It was stolen. Messy. Secret.
His hands held your face like he was trying not to break you.
Yours gripped his shirt like you’d waited too long to finally let go.
After that, the world went quiet. Not because you stopped talking.
Because you didn’t need words anymore.
It was in the way he looked at you in class. The way his fingers brushed yours for just a second too long. The way he walked behind you in the hallways, hand lightly ghosting the small of your back… just to see you shiver.
And you always did. The party raged on inside. Laughter. Alcohol. Loud music. Some students already asleep on the couches.
But Theo kept you away from it.
Your back was pressed against the stone wall in a dim corridor lit only by flickering torchlight. His body was close. Way too close. And on his face that expression of constant self-control… about to snap.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, voice low and fraying, “how hard it is not to touch you when you’re near me.”
You held your breath. Not because of what he said — but how he said it. Like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Like he was fighting himself. Blaise. The whole damn world.
“Then don’t,” you whispered.
His eyes changed. Darkened. Turned hungry.
He didn’t move. You did.
Your fingers brushed the edge of his shirt, fabric soft under your hand just an excuse to close the distance.
And he gave in.The kiss was deeper this time. Slower. Rougher.
His hands slid around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear.
Your lips moved with his in soft gasps. Your fingers tangled in his hair.
And for a moment, you forgot everything. Your last name. The rules. Blaise. There was only Theo. And the way his breath hitched as he held you like this.
When he pulled away, his eyes stayed closed, forehead resting against yours. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered like a confession.
“You shouldn’t want to,” you answered.
You both smiled a little broken, a little addicted. Because you both knew this night wasn’t ending here. He took your hand.
Not like you were fragile. But like you were dangerous and he liked it.
“Come with me,” he said.
You didn’t ask where. You didn’t care. When you’re falling, the landing doesn’t matter. And with him… you weren’t scared to crash.
The secret became a routine. Sneaking around between classes. Stolen glances disguised as nothing. His hand brushing yours under the Great Hall table. Silent meetings in the Room of Requirement.
Everything carefully hidden. Everything done to make sure Blaise Zabini never found out. And it worked.
Until that night.
It was late. His room became your shared haven again, a soft couch, green curtains like his house colors. Theo had you curled up in his arms.
Kissing. Laughing. Breathing.
“I forget sometimes this isn’t allowed,” you murmured against his chest. He was quiet for a second.
“Sometimes,” he said finally, “I wish Blaise wasn’t my best friend.”
You froze slightly. “And what if he finds out?”
“He won’t take it well.”
Minutes passed. Peaceful. Dangerous.Then a knock. Three sharp bangs on the door. Theo stiffened. You sat up, heart racing. “Don’t open it,” you whispered.
But the door… opened anyway.
The magic of the Room let him in.
Blaise.
Standing in the doorway. In his pajamas. Wand in hand. Face unreadable. Fury. Disbelief. Hurt.
No one spoke.
The silence was louder than any scream. His eyes went from you to Theo. Then back to you. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” was all he said.
Theo stood up slowly. Didn’t hide you. Didn’t run.
“Let me explain—”
“How long?” Blaise asked you directly. Your voice barely made it out.
“A few weeks.”
He laughed. No humor. Just bitterness. “A few weeks,” he repeated, looking at Theo. “And you didn’t say a word. After everything?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” Blaise snapped. “A fling? A way to piss me off? Or do you just want to prove you can take everything — even my sister?”
“It’s not a game,” you said firmly. Theo looked at you like you just saved him. Blaise didn’t.
“Of course it’s not. Because you don’t fall for just anyone, do you?
Then Theo broke the silence. “I’m in love with her.”
Your breath caught. Not from shock. But because… he’d never said it out loud before.
Blaise blinked like he’d just been hit with a curse.
“I can’t listen to this,” he muttered. “Not from either of you.”
And he left.
The next day, you found him outside the library. He didn’t look surprised to see you. Just… tired.
“Do you love him?” he asked. Straight to the point.
“Yes,” you said.
“And he loves you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why hide it?”
“We were scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of losing you.”
That made him flinch. Because he didn’t expect that answer.
Not from you. “You’re the most important person in my life,” you said.
“And you were mine,” he replied.
There was a long silence. Then he said: “If he breaks your heart… he won’t face me as a friend. He’ll face me as your brother. And he won’t recognize me when I’m done with him.”
You nodded. “I know.”
He walked away, hand on the door but paused.
And with his back to you, said quietly: “I always knew if someone could make Nott lose his mind… it’d be you.”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “You didn’t have to knock him off his broom, you absolute prat!” I snapped, my voice echoing off the stone walls of the corridor.
Theodore Nott leaned casually against the cold, grey wall, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. His dark eyes glimmered with mischief, and he made no move to hide the satisfaction in his expression.
Students passing by shot glances in our direction, whispers trailing in our wake like smoke. I barely noticed. I was late for class—Transfiguration, if anyone cared—but honestly, I didn’t give a fig. Professor McGonagall would let me off. She always did. I was her favourite, after all.
“I mean, really, Theodore,” I said, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “Knocking Cedric Diggory off his broom because… what? He looked at me too long?”
Theo shrugged, entirely too nonchalant. “Exactly that. He was staring. I didn’t like it. Problem?”
I let out a loud, incredulous laugh. “You do realise how utterly ridiculous you sound, don’t you?”
“Call me Theodore again,” he said, his smirk widening like he’d just scored a point in some invisible game.
I rolled my eyes. “Honestly—”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, sweetheart,” he interrupted smoothly, leaning a fraction closer.
I bit my lip, suppressing a groan. “Enough, Theod—Theo,” I corrected myself, not wanting to get dragged into his usual verbal sparring.
“You’re so adorable when you’re cross,” he said, tilting his head, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “My little Hufflepuff.”
I bristled. “I’m not your anything, Nott.”
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk only growing. “Ooh, so now we’re on first-name terms. Progress.”
“Will you just shut up?” I snapped, though my voice carried a touch more weariness than real anger.
“Suits you, amore,” he said with mock fondness, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’ve really got to get to class, but… for the love of Merlin, just leave Cedric alone, okay?”
Theo’s brow quirked, and he repeated the name slowly, like tasting a rare wine. “Ced,” he said casually.
“Cedric,” I corrected, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“There we go,” he murmured, lips twitching into another small, infuriating smirk.
“It doesn’t matter,” I muttered, turning sharply and striding toward the Transfiguration classroom.
“It sure does!” he called after me, his voice echoing down the corridor.
I scoffed again, my frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
He was so infuriating. Always had been. Who did he think he was, getting jealous over me like this? He couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to. Not anymore.
Yet, as much as I wanted to scowl at him from afar, I couldn’t quite shake the way my chest tightened at the sight of him—smug, insufferable, maddeningly confident Theodore Nott.
----
“Mate, stop staring,” Mattheo muttered, rolling his eyes as he leaned lazily against the cool, green-and-silver walls of the Slytherin common room. The firelight flickered across his smirk, though there was a faint edge of amusement in it.
Theo Nott didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed across the room, sharp and calculating, on the figure twirling gracefully in the glow of the chandeliers.
Y/n.
And she wasn’t alone. Cedric Diggory, golden-haired and impossibly charming as ever, had her laughing, spinning her around with a carelessness that made Theo’s jaw tighten. It was harmless, of course. To her. But to Cedric, Theo knew, it was different. There was more than just friendship there—a closeness that Theo couldn’t stomach seeing.
“Who bloody invited him?” Theo finally spat, voice low and dangerous as he took a slow sip of his drink, careful to keep his composure.
Mattheo raised a brow, tilting his head with lazy curiosity. “Diggory? Probably Pansy,” he said with a shrug, as if it explained everything. His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You know how she is—always trying to stir something up.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Pansy, Pansy, Pansy… she’s got no idea what she’s messing with.” His voice was cold, controlled, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “It’s not a game, Mattheo. That boy… that Hufflepuff…” He gritted his teeth, the words almost catching in his throat. “He doesn’t belong in my sight when it comes to her.”
Mattheo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Relax, Theo. It’s just a dance.”
Just a dance?
It wasn't just a dance.
Theo’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t reply, though his mind churned like a storm. Every laugh, every twirl, every glance Cedric dared to steal—Theo felt it all. It was unfair, irrational even, and yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
From across the room, Draco, Blaise, and Pansy lounged in various states of boredom and amusement, their whispers occasionally carrying snippets of commentary that Theo deliberately ignored. He didn’t need their approval—or their interference.
His hands tightened around his glass, the amber liquid sloshing slightly, and he finally muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “She’s mine. She always was. And no bloody Hufflepuff’s going to change that.”
Mattheo gave him a sidelong glance, smirking knowingly. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, mate. But then again… that’s you.”
Theo’s jaw clenched, but a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Perhaps. But the dance wasn’t over, and neither was his claim.
--
“You wear that for him?”
The words cut through the quiet corridor like a blade, making me stumble back a step and gasp.
I had gone outside the party, escaping into the dorm hallway for a moment of air, a reprieve from the heat, the music, the laughter. From Cedric. From Theo. From those impossible, familiar eyes that always seemed to find me, no matter where I tried to hide.
The corridor was empty—or so I thought.
“I—hm?” I murmured softly, spinning around to meet him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Theo Nott stood there, just a few feet away, his dark eyes sharp and calculating, dangerous and familiar all at once. The same eyes I had once adored, the same eyes that had ended everything that night, leaving me raw, empty, and aching in a way I’d never thought possible.
“Diggory. The skirt. It’s short,” he said sharply, his gaze piercing. “You wear it for him?”
“No…” I trailed off, my voice smaller than I intended. My stomach knotted, and my fingers curled into the folds of my dress.
“Oh, really?” He raised a brow, dark and unnerving. “Then who?”
I swallowed hard, the answer hanging in the air before I dared to whisper it: “You.”
He didn’t answer at once. Just stood there, brow raised, silent, like he was weighing something too heavy to say.
“Thought you quit,” I said, nodding toward the cigarette dangling between his fingers.
“I did,” he replied, shrugging with a casualness I knew was nothing but a mask.
I frowned. “Can I have one?”
He glanced at me, surprised. “Since when do you smoke?”
“Since we broke up,” I said lightly, shrugging, trying to appear indifferent, though my chest ached. Since reminds me of you. Since smells like you. Since keeps me from going mad thinking of you. The words caught in my throat before I could say them. I couldn’t let him know how close I still felt, how painfully close.
“Well… you’re quitting,” he said sharply, voice cutting through the stillness of the corridor.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I snapped, feeling a shiver crawl up my spine, cold seeping through my skin.
He just shrugged. “Just did.”
“You broke up with me, Theodore.” My voice cracked, raw with anger and hurt, the tears I’d been holding back pricking at the corners of my eyes.
“I did.” He exhaled slowly, almost quietly. “But… you’re still quitting.”
“You don’t get to do that,” I hissed, fists tightening at my sides, shaking with frustration and sorrow. “You don’t get to get jealous, get protective, get possessive… like you even care—”
“I do care,” he cut me off, sudden and sharp, throwing the cigarette to the stone floor and grinding it out with his heel. His voice was low, raw, desperate, and I could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I do.”
Then rage, heartbreak, and confusion collided inside me, leaving me trembling. “Then why?” I demanded, voice rising despite the cold creeping into my bones. “Why did you leave me? Why now? Why—why do this to me?”
“I had to!” he shouted, the words echoing down the empty corridor. “I wasn’t… good enough for you, and you know it!”
“You are enough for me, Theo!” I cried, the tears spilling freely now, burning paths down my cheeks. “You’re everythingI need. You always have been.”
“I don’t know how to do the… boyfriend stuff,” he admitted quietly, voice cracking with the weight of his own guilt and shame.
“But you do, Theo,” I said, stumbling a step closer, heart pounding so hard I thought he could hear it. “You brought me flowers, kissed me when I least expected it, made me laugh when I felt like I’d never smile again—you…”
“That’s not enough,” he scoffed, shaking his head, voice bitter. “You want more, and I… I made you cry. I hurt you, mi amore. That’s not fair. I can’t… I can’t do that to you anymore.”
“But I love you,” I said, my voice breaking in two, raw and desperate. “I don’t care about anything else, I just… I just want you. I need you.”
“I love you too,” he whispered, voice caught, almost tender, almost breaking me open with hope. And for a brief moment, my heart soared. Perhaps this meant something. Perhaps there was a way back. Perhaps he would stay.
I imagined it—the small morning kisses, the warmth of him sitting beside me at breakfast, laughter spilling between us in the Great Hall. The hope made my chest ache, a tender, sharp kind of ache.
Then he swallowed hard, wiping at a stray tear, and all that hope drained like water from my hands.
“But… I’m not good enough for you,” he said, the words heavy and final.
Not good enough.
The words fell into my chest like stones, crushing every ounce of hope, leaving a hollow ache that seemed to expand inside me.
“I never will be. You need to accept it. We… we can’t be together.”
And with that, he turned away, the faint click of his shoes against the stone floor echoing in the empty corridor. Leaving me frozen, trembling, alone.
I sank to the floor, my hands covering my face, sobbing quietly, the hurt so raw it burned. My mind was a tangle of confusion, heartbreak, and longing. The jealousy. The guilt. The desire. It all swirled together, cruel and unforgiving.
My chest ached. My stomach churned. My heart… my heart felt empty, hollow, as if it had been ripped out entirely and left to bleed in the cold Hogwarts hallway.
I had loved him. I still did. And now… I didn’t know if I could survive the ache of knowing he didn’t think he was enough for me
