fluff, pining, hidden feelings, angry love confession
Theodore Nott had been your best friend since, well, forever.
You’d known him—and the rest of your small circle—since you were old enough to walk across polished floors and mumble polite greetings to people your parents wanted to impress. It came with the territory of being born into a pureblood family, something your parents valued far more than they ever valued you. To them, you weren’t a person so much as proof that the family line continued.
At least you hadn’t been alone in it. Theo and the others had grown up the same way, taught to sit straight, speak evenly, and never, ever show weakness. You’d all endured the same lectures, the same expectations, and the same cold kind of love that made you question what warmth was supposed to feel like.
But out of that shared misery came something real—him. Theodore Nott. Your quiet salvation in a world that demanded perfection.
Maybe that was why the sharp ache in your chest, the one that had been festering for days, burned hotter now as you watched him turn away from you, again.
A week. It had been a week of this. Dodged glances, clipped replies, and the kind of silence that felt deliberate. The easy rhythm you once shared had vanished, replaced by distance that felt crueler than any insult. His smiles had gone tight around the edges, his words polite but cold. And every time he slipped away without a word, it was as if the air left the room with him.
You swallowed hard, tightening your grip on your bag as you walked in step with Pansy down the corridor. The echo of your footsteps filled the quiet between you, bouncing off the stone walls.
“Pans?” you asked, your voice coming out softer than you meant it to.
She hummed absentmindedly, her hand buried in her bag as she muttered something about a quill—or maybe a notebook.
“Has Teddy said anything about me?”
That got her attention. Pansy glanced up, meeting your eyes just as you both stopped in front of the Slytherin common room entrance. The corridor around you was empty, the torches flickering low, throwing shadows that seemed to stretch with the silence. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying not to look as small as you felt.
“No,” she said finally, her brow creasing. “Why?”
You gave a weak shrug. “He hasn’t spoken to me in a week. It’s not exactly hard to notice that.”
Pansy snorted, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “It’s Theo. He gets moody sometimes.”
“Not with me." The words came out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended.
Pansy paused at that, lips pressing together as she studied you. “Maybe he’s mad about Evan.”
“Evan?” Your eyebrows knitted together.
Evan Hawthorn. Ravenclaw Keeper. Same year as you all. The boy you’d been seeing regularly for the last month and a half. It wasn’t anything serious—not really—but it was nice. Easy. Simple.
“Why would Theo be mad about Evan?” you asked. “They get along.”
“Do they?” Pansy tilted her head slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flicked over you like she was two steps ahead in a game you hadn’t realized you were playing.
“Yes, they do,” you repeated, firmer this time.
Pansy exhaled then, the tension in her shoulders softening as she looked at you. It was that rare, gentle look she only ever gave in moments like this—when she dropped the sharp comments and actually seemed to care.
“I know the two of you are best friends,” she said carefully, her tone slower now, “but have you ever, you know… thought that it could be more?”
“More?” you repeated, as if saying the word might somehow make it make sense.
“More,” she echoed simply, watching you too closely.
You blinked—once, twice—trying to think of what to say.
Of course you’d thought about it. Not often, and never on purpose, but sometimes the idea slipped through the cracks when you weren’t paying attention. It crept in quietly, curling around the edges of your heart when Theo laughed a certain way, or when his shoulder brushed yours and neither of you moved away. It sat in your throat on long nights when it was just the two of you and the rest of the world felt far away.
But you always pushed it down. Because Theodore Nott was your best friend. Nothing more. He couldn’t be. If you let it be more—if you let yourself want more—you could lose the only person who had ever felt like home.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. “Teddy doesn’t see me like that, Pansy.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes but not unkindly. “Think what you want,” she said, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder, “but don’t complain when he starts ignoring you. You can’t have it both ways.”
Before you could respond, she turned and stepped into the common room, the tall stone door swinging shut behind her with a deep, echoing thud.
Not a particularly good one—or even a fully thought-out one—but a plan nonetheless.
Slytherin had Quidditch practice tonight, and you knew it ended at eight. Theo, being captain, always stayed behind after everyone else had gone. He’d double-check the equipment, tidy up the lockers, sometimes just sit on the benches long after the lights dimmed.
You blew a strand of hair out of your face and marched toward the Quidditch pitch, the chill of the evening air nipping at your cheeks. The sound of your shoes against the gravel path echoed softly, your heart thudding a little faster with each step.
He can’t ignore you when he’s cornered, you told yourself.
By the time you reached the locker rooms, most of the lights were already off. The faint scent of wet grass and broom polish hung in the air. Just as you were a few steps away, the final light flicked out—and the door opened.
Theo stepped into view, looking startled to find you there. His hair was damp with sweat, a few strands sticking to his forehead. His uniform was untucked and smeared with dirt, his knees stained from the field.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough, guarded.
“We need to talk,” you said firmly, planting your feet. There was no room for argument in your tone.
He blinked, glancing back toward the pitch as if hoping someone would rescue him. “Look, I really don’t have time—”
“Then make time, Teddy!” The words came out louder than you meant, sharp with frustration. “You’ve been ignoring me for days now!”
He scoffed, tossing his towel into his bag. “Just because I’ve been busy doesn’t mean you can act like a child.”
That stung. More than you wanted it to.
His eyebrows were drawn together, a crease cutting across his forehead, but the way his nose scrunched gave him away. You’d known him long enough to recognize when he was lying.
“You haven’t been busy,” you said quietly.
“No, you haven’t!” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Theodore, you have not been busy. You’ve been avoiding me. You barely look at me anymore, and when you do, it’s like you’d rather be anywhere else. I thought I was your best friend. Best friends don’t ignore each other and pretend like it’s fine!”
Your voice cracked at the end, the sound echoing faintly in the empty field.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy—filled with all the words you’d both been avoiding. Theo’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides, and you could see the conflict flicker across his face.
He wanted to say something. You just didn’t know if you were ready to hear it.
Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “You don’t get it,” he muttered.
“Then explain it to me,” you shot back. “Because I’m trying, Theo. I’m really trying, but you’re not making it easy.”
Lightning cracked across the sky—loud, angry, splitting the clouds open with a jagged flash.
You felt the first drops of rain hit your cheeks, cold against the heat rising in your face, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.
Theo stayed silent. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed anywhere but on you. The sound of rain began to build, tapping harder against the ground, soaking through your robes.
You laughed then, a sharp, bitter sound that didn’t feel like you at all. “Fine, Theodore. Don’t tell me. Don’t talk to me. Act like you don’t even know me for all I care.” You threw your hands up, the motion half-angry, half-exhausted. “I’m done.”
You turned, determined to walk away, ignoring the chill that ran down your spine as the rain began to pour in earnest. The sky roared overhead, and for a moment, all you could hear was the storm.
“You think this is easy for me?”
His voice cut through the rain like thunder, raw and loud enough to make you stop.
You turned back slowly, water dripping from your hair, eyes wide. “What?”
Theo stepped toward you, his boots splashing through the puddles. His hair clung to his forehead, raindrops catching on his lashes as his chest rose and fell fast. There was a tremor in his voice now, part anger, part desperation.
“You think I can just—just sit here and watch you be with him,” he said, his words tripping over each other, “while I’m fucking in love with you?”
The world seemed to stop. The storm, the rain, the trembling in your hands—everything froze around that one sentence.
You stood there, staring at him, your chest constricting so tightly you could barely breathe. “Teddy…” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.
But he shook his head, water flying from the ends of his hair. “You think it’s easy?” he demanded, his tone cracking under the weight of it. “Watching you laugh with him, hold his hand, pretend like he gets you? He doesn’t. He can’t. He doesn’t know you the way I do.”
His voice broke on the last word.
“I’ve been here,” he said quietly, eyes finally meeting yours, glassy with something more than rain. “For years. Just—here. And I’m so bloody tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
The thunder rolled again, softer this time, like the world itself was holding its breath for what came next.
Theo took another step closer, his shoulders tense, rainwater running down the side of his face.
“I tried to stop it,” he went on, voice rough. “Merlin knows I did. You were my best friend. The one person I didn’t want to mess things up with. But then you’d smile, or laugh at something stupid, and it was over. Every time, it was over. I kept thinking I could hide it, that it would fade, but it never did. It just got worse.”
You swallowed hard, but he didn’t stop.
“I thought if I stayed away, it would help. That maybe I’d get over it, or at least stop thinking about you all the damn time. But then I’d see you—” his voice broke again, hands curling at his sides, “—and all I could think about was how it wasn’t me making you smile like that.”
“Theo—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.
“I know you don’t feel the same. I know that. And I swear, I wasn’t going to say anything, I just—” His words were tumbling out now, fast and uneven. “I couldn’t keep watching you with him, like I’m invisible, like none of it mattered—like we don’t matter—”
You didn’t let him finish.
Before he could say another word, you stepped forward, closing the space between you and pressed your lips to his.
For a second, everything stilled. The rain, the thunder, the chaos in your chest—all of it fell away.
Theo froze, eyes wide, a small sound caught in his throat. Then he exhaled shakily against your mouth, his hands hovering before finally settling at your waist, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he held too tightly.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, rainwater dripping down your faces.
“That’s not what you think,” you whispered, voice trembling. “It’s never been easy for me either.”
Theo blinked, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. His lips parted, but no words came out—just another breath that sounded half like a laugh, half like disbelief.
He looked at you for a long moment, rain dripping from his lashes. Then he stepped closer, slow and hesitant this time. His hand lifted, fingertips brushing against your jaw, barely there—like he still wasn’t sure he was allowed.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly. “And I will.”
Instead, you leaned into his touch, eyes closing as the storm around you faded into something softer—something almost peaceful.
For the first time in weeks, maybe years, the silence between you didn’t feel heavy. It felt like relief.
