Juniper

"Potter will be fine, a little extra fame won't hurt him." He scoffs, obviously bitter. You know how he feels about your friendship with Harry and you've explained to him time and time again that he's just a close friend, but your reassurances do nothing to quell the fire of jealousy constantly burning in his heart. Your relationship with Theo has always been a point of discourse among your friends. How a boy like him could be cordial with a girl like you was a mystery they still haven't solved. But you like him, he likes you and there's nothing more to it. 

"Theo." you say sternly, the reprimand in your gaze shutting him up. 

"Okay, you're right, sorry. Seriously though, he'll be fine. Don't worry, yeah?" his fingers tug your hand open so he's able to intertwine them with your own. 

"It's just not fair."

"I know it isn't, but when has life ever been fair?"

A cacophony of opinions on Harry's unfortunate situation suddenly fills the room and the commotion gives you the opportunity to sneak off and talk with him before he's dragged away to join the other champions. 

"Harry!" your voice rises slightly so it can be heard over the others as you approach him from behind. 

"Oh, hey." his voice cracks a bit as he struggles to compose himself.

"Are you okay?" your eyes search his carefully, looking for the answer to your question. 

"Fine, why wouldn't I be? It's not like I got chosen for some deadly tournament I didn't even want to be part of." he says, and the sarcasm bleeding through his words makes you want to hit him upside the head.

"Harry, this isn't a joke. You've got to be careful. If you ever need anything, I'm always here okay?" your brow furrows at his flippant tone, and you'd wish he'd be more serious about this. 

"Yeah, I know. Thanks." a small smile blooms on his face as he takes in your sincerity. 

"Time to go, don't want to keep our newest champion from the others do we?" A familiar voice comes from beside you. 

"Nott." Harry gives him a slight nod of acknowledgment, shooting you once last look before stepping past him to follow Dumbledore outside the Great Hall. 

"Let's go. There's been enough excitement for one day." Theo grabs your hand, leading the way as the both of you head back to the Slytherin common room. 

The first task of the tournament soon commences, and you're practically vibrating with anxious energy as you sit in the stands, your green and silver striped scarf doing little to warm you against the biting cold. Theo is next to you, his presence made aware only by the shoulder pressed against yours. The other three champions have all cleared their dragons; Harry is the last one left. Theo's been watching with a quiet, calm intensity that shifts slightly when he notices the sudden tension in your form once the last boy walks out onto the arena. His gaze moves over your figure, watching your hands grip your robes so hard your knuckles turn white. You're watching Harry with a desperate vigilance that makes Theo nervous. 

When the Horntail breaks free of its chain and Harry dives on his Firebolt, the entire arena cheers loudly, and you're up on your feet in a second, standing dangerously close to the edge of the stands. Theo's hand finds its way to your wrist, gently urging you to sit down. 

"He knows how to fly," he says, the calm tone of his voice barely concealing the displeasure he feels at the situation, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "He doesn't need you falling over for him."

"Right, I'm just-"

"Worried, I know. You're always worried." he mutters, his hand pulling away to land back in his lap. 

"You know it's not like that." your eyes finally meet his, the furrow in your brow only worsening his mood. 

"Sure, yeah." his voice is lower now, his attention on the scene in front of him. 

That evening, after Harry's remarkable victory, you find yourself lingering outside the Gryffindor common room, the noise inside a stark contrast to the silence of the corridor. 

"Thought I'd find you here." Theo's voice. It's like he has a sixth sense for knowing where you are at all times.  

"Theo! I just wanted to congratulate him, but it sounds busy in there." you smile brightly at him, taking his hand. 

"He has enough people to celebrate with him, he doesn't need your congratulations." he says, the harshness of his words startling you. 

"That's true, but…" 

"But what? It's late and you're wasting your time, let's just go back okay?" his tone softens slightly, coercing you into abandoning your mission. 

"Okay." you let him drag you away, your mood dampened slightly as you give one last glance towards the portrait of the fat lady you had just been standing in front of. 

Theo doesn't know what to do about the uncomfortable tightening of his chest whenever your attention is directed at Potter instead of him. He knows he's your friend, you've explained the bond you have with him, but that doesn't mean you need to be constantly coddling him. By the time the second task rolls around, he's already itching with an overwhelming jealousy that only seems to worsen as time passes. 

The only reason he's on the platform, staring bitterly at the murky water of the Black Lake, is because you insist on watching every one of the tasks; "To make sure Harry's alright." or whatever response you gave him when he asked. His hand is holding yours tightly, and he has them tucked into the pocket of his robes as he turns to watch you staring intently at the water. 

There's a prolonged silence as all the other champions resurface with their person except for Harry. Theo isn't surprised; he always has to come last for dramatic effect. He almost scoffs when Potter finally comes out of the water, and his hand keeps you anchored to his side when you attempt to aid the boy who's now coughing and shivering where he sits on the deck.

"He's fine isn't he? You can see him from here." Theo whispers to you, ignoring your squirming as you struggle to free yourself.

"But Theo, he's freezing! I just want to talk to him." 

"You can talk to him later. Look, they're crowding him already."

You turn to look at the small circle of people that have gathered around him, wrapping him in towels and asking him questions he's too disoriented to answer. You bite your lip, reluctantly turning away from the scene.

"Okay, I'll talk to him later."

"You know I'm just looking out for you right?" he asks, gently brushing his thumb against your cheek, prompting you to look up at him. 

"Yeah. Thank you." you nod, giving him a small smile, though your heart is still heavy.

You eventually catch up to Harry later that evening, while he's walking down a corridor to who knows where. 

"Harry! You've been so busy I've barely talked to you since the tournament started." you say, breathless from running. 

"Oh, hey." he smiles, stopping now and turning to face you. "Sorry, it's been kind of crazy lately. You know, with all the near death experiences lately it's hard to find time for anything else."

"Very funny. Anyway, how are you holding up? You've been doing well so far! Just one more task left." you smile, shoving him lightly. 

"Honestly, I'm surprised I've made it this far. I just want it to be over."

"I know, just a bit more. I'll be cheering for you okay?" 

"Of course, you always do. Really, thank you." he looks at you, and you can tell these tasks have been weighing more heavily on his mind than he'd been willing to admit. 

"What are friends for? Well, I should get back soon. Good luck!" you give him a pat on the shoulder before retreating down the hall towards your common room. 

There's something different about the air tonight. Goosebumps rise along your arms and there's an uneasy feeling in your stomach as you watch the remaining champions prepare to enter the maze. 

"Theo…I think something's going to happen." you whisper, your hands clutching his upper arm tightly.

"It's just your tendency to worry. Everything's fine. I'm sure by the end of this, Potter will come charging out of that maze, trophy in hand, and everyone will cheer." he murmurs, not looking at you. 

You don't answer, that uneasiness still present as you wait for the result of the third and final task.

Time passes, and the more Theo looks at you, the more resentment he feels. You're obviously anxious over some other guy when he's right in front of you. It doesn't help that Potter's a Gryffindor and you're surrounded by Slytherins who Theo's convinced are aware of your recent behavior. To someone like Theo, who's pride comes from his ability to stay levelheaded in any situation, this feels like public humiliation. He pulls you back down as you begin to stand, more aggressively this time. 

"Sit down. You're making a fool of yourself. He's in a maze; you staring at a hedge isn't going to save him." he sneers, voice low as he keeps you seated next to him. 

Before you can respond, Harry apparates straight onto the middle of the field. You're relieved for a second before you realize something is very, very wrong. 

Screams suddenly erupt from the stands as people start pushing each other to get to the bottom where Harry Potter and a lifeless Cedric Diggory now lie. Harry's crying, clutching Cedric's body as he fights against those trying to yank him away. Your heart drops and you leap out of your seat, your eyes fixed on him as you turn to run down the wooden stairs before a hand clamps down on your wrist with frantic, bruised force, yanking you back. 

It's Theo. 

He's pale, chest heaving, and his eyes are wide with a raw, chaotic panic you've never seen on his face before. 

"Let go of me!" you shout over the deafening noise around you, tugging against his grip. "He's hurt, he's-"

"Stop moving!" he snaps, voice cracking. He grabs your other shoulder, pinning you in place against a nearby support beam. "Look down there! Look at the chaos! You can't go down there!"

"Theo, let go!"

"Listen to me for once!" Theo begs, his voice dropping into a harsh, frantic whisper. "It's not safe! Didn't you hear Potter crying about the Dark Lord being back?!"

"He's surrounded by teachers, by the Minister, and by a bunch of shouting students," he says, voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperate logic. "He doesn't need your help right now, and I don't need you getting hurt."

You stare at him frozen. You can see the sheer, overwhelming anxiety flooding his brain. Theo isn't trying to be mean right now, and he isn't playing a game—he's just a kid who grew up in an unpredictable home, completely terrified of chaos, trying desperately to keep the one person he cares about where he can keep you safe. 

"Theo…" you say softly, your voice shaking. "He's my friend. He's alone down there."

"I'm your boyfriend!" he whispers harshly, his grip tightening on your shoulders, his eyes brimming with a desperate, possessive fear. "And I'm telling you it isn't safe! Just stay here. Keep your head down. Please... just stay here where I can keep an eye on you."

The moment you yank your wrist free and run down onto the pitch anyway, the weak foundation your relationship was teetering on, breaks. 

The days following the end of the tournament consist of a suffocating, unbearable tension between the two of you that eventually gives way to collapse. 

Immediately after the incident, you spend the night outside the Hospital Wing, waiting for any news on Harry. Once you make sure he's alright, you return to the common room, Theo still awake and sitting in his usual chair by the fire. He doesn't say anything to you however, your decision earlier having caused him to withdraw completely. When you do attempt to speak to him, he gives one word responses, treating you like a stranger.

A few days pass and the shock of that night gives way to overwhelming anxiety and insecurity. Because Theo doesn't know how to express that he felt abandoned, his fear turns right back into sharp, biting jealousy. 

In the Great Hall, during class, in the corridors, wherever you are, Theo makes sure to drop quiet, cruel comments designed to make you feel guilty for caring about Harry.

"Must be nice to have the whole school weeping for you," he says casually as Harry walks past their Potions table. Then he turns to you, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm; "Are you going to carry his books today, or does he prefer you just hold his hand while he grieves?"

You try to reassure him. You tell him again and again that you care about him, that Harry is just a friend who went through a nightmare. But to Theo, every minute you spend looking at Harry is proof that he isn't the right person to keep you safe or happy. 

After a tense argument one night outside near the lake, you come to realize that he's not in a place where he can receive love or trust without sabotaging it. His eyes are wide with fear, jealousy, and pride and every time you try to calm him down, it just goes back to you choosing Harry over him.

You take a step back, wrapping your cloak around yourself against the cold wind. 

"We need to take a break, Theo," you say, your voice remarkably steady despite the quiet tears now forming your eyes.

He freezes. The mask tries to slide back over his face, but his jaw quivers slightly. "A break."

"You don't know how to regulate what you're feeling right now, and every time you get scared or jealous, you lash out and hurt me," you explain softly. "I keep trying to reassure you, but you refuse to hear it. I can't keep bleeding just to prove my loyalty to you."

"If you walk away now..." Theo’s voice drops into a desperate, trembling threat, "don't expect me to be waiting when you decide you're done playing guardian angel to Potter."

"I'm not asking you to wait," you reply gently, looking at him with sadness instead of anger. "I'm asking you to figure out how to take care of yourself without tearing me down in the process."

The last few weeks of your Fourth Year are solemn and quiet. The mark left by Cedric's death and the Dark Lord's return was deep; the jovial mood around the school now extinguished. You don't sit with Theo at meals anymore and whenever you pass him in the halls, he looks straight ahead, ignoring you completely. Though you always feel the weight of his gaze on your back once you pass him. On the Hogwarts Express, after the end of the term, you sit alone in a compartment near the back of the train, while Theo sits with Malfoy and Zabini, his misery masked by cold indifference. 

You set off, determined, as you approach a chatty Astoria Greengrass who's currently talking the ear off of some poor Hufflepuff girl. 

"Astoria, I need your help." you say sitting down next to her, the Hufflepuff taking the graciously given opportunity in full as she makes a quick getaway, shooting you a relieved glance. 

"Sure! What do you need?" she says sweetly, already having forgotten about her previous conversation. 

"It's Theo. I'm trying to figure out what to get him for his birthday. I want it to be special for him." 

"Oh, that's sweet! I'm sure he'd like anything from you, but if you need suggestions, how about a personally bound journal with charmed with a spell to keep it away from prying eyes? Can't trust Mattheo not to go snooping." she says with a laugh. 

"That's actually a really good idea. He does write a lot." you say, glad to start your investigation on such a high note. At this rate, you won't even have to ask any of the others. Thank Merlin there's someone at least partially sane in your house. 

"Oh, please. He doesn't need another reason to go lock himself away to brood." a sudden, familiar voice comes from behind, startling you out of your thoughts. 

"You should get him a silver pocket watch. Something traditional and sophisticated to match his aristocratic background." 

"Daphne, I appreciate your input but I'd rather not remind him of his father on his birthday. Besides, he doesn't care much for flashy things like that." you say, standing up now that the newly arrived Greengrass sister had practically taken over your side of the bench. 

"Well I can't say I didn't try. Come on Tori, we need to get started on that Binns essay." Daphne tugs on Astoria's arm until she's standing and she gives you a quick, apologetic wave before she's dragged away by her sister. 

You look down at the mostly empty piece of parchment you had brought with you to keep track of potential gifts. The journal idea is still on the table, but now you’re unsure about it. He does have tons of journals already. You shake it off, deciding to continue your search; you head down a corridor where you eventually come across Blaise Zabini, who's leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he wordlessly judges the students that cross his path now and then. 

"Zabini, do you have a second?" you ask, approaching him. 

He looks you up and down before answering. "What is it?"

"Theo's birthday is coming up. I wanted to get a few gift ideas from people, so I'm asking you." you say, slightly self-conscious now. 

He raises an eyebrow, letting out an amused scoff though you can tell he's thinking about it now. "I'm sure you know Nott isn't interested in any mundane rubbish you might buy from Hogsmeade. Get him some obscure book on ancient runes or theory. The older and more expensive, the better." he says, before straightening up and leaving, abandoning the conversation as soon as it started. 

"Okay…" you murmur to yourself, now even more discouraged, parchment still painfully blank. You weren't drowning in galleons and any connections you did have weren't anything to write home about, so even if you wanted to, getting a rare book he'd like is completely out of your reach. 

As you're standing there, dwelling on your shortcomings, a hand slaps you on the back, the sting causing a sudden wave of annoyance to wash away any previous feelings of self pity. You turn around, ready to chew out whoever it is, but they're speaking before you can even open your mouth. 

"Why the sad face?" Mattheo's voice is obnoxiously loud as he laughs, slapping your back again. Of course, you should've known it was him. Only he'd have enough audacity to do something like that. 

"Mattheo." you say with a grimace, pushing his hand away. 

"I've heard about your dilemma and I'm here to help." he says, his smile more unnerving than friendly. 

"Right, okay. You're close with him, what do you think he'd like?" you say, less hostile now that he's not just here to bother you. 

"A dagger," he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "One with a goblin-wrought silver blade. It's practical and sharp, perfect for him." 

"You want me to get him a weapon? For his birthday?" 

"Hey, I'm trying to help you out. Just don't get him anything overly sentimental; he'll end up throwing it out." he says seriously for a second before the smile returns to his face. 

"Good luck!" he laughs before walking down the hall, his voice echoing off the walls before it fades. 

That night you go to bed restless, your mind a jumbled mess of almost gifts that still don't seem right. Three more days to figure it out. You still have people to ask and thankfully no one's let it slip to Theo, who's still blissfully unaware of the lengths you're going to for him. 

You're refreshed and newly inspired the next morning, your qualms from yesterday nowhere to be found. You have Snape first thing that morning, and there's nothing like an early morning Potions class to get your mind going. You sit next to Theo, he'd get suspicious if you didn't, though your thoughts are focused on who you'll ask next after class is over. 

"Theo, I need to talk with Pansy after class, can I catch up with you later?" you ask, watching him prepare the ingredients for the potion assigned as the task of the day. 

"Parkinson?" he says, looking up at you now. "Why? Did she say something to you?"

"No, it's nothing like that. She just borrowed my Ancient Runes notes last week and she's 'forgotten' to give them back. It'll be quick, I promise."

You assume it's fine because he just shrugs and goes back to whatever he’s doing, but after class, when you grab your things and make your way over to Pansy out in the hall, you notice he's already there waiting for you. 

"Theo, you can go ahead, you don't have to wait for me." you say, slightly nervous now as you move to stand in front of him.

"You're acting strange. It'll only take a few minutes right? I can wait." he says, arms crossed now. He's probably noticed the tension in your form and on any other day, his awareness of your habits would make you swoon, but it isn't any other day so it does nothing but make you anxious. 

"Please? I just want to talk to her, and I can't do that if you're hovering over me." You love him but he really can't take a hint. 

"…Fine. I'll be in the common room. Don't be long." he gives in, still wary but you're clearly uncomfortable and he doesn't want to push it. 

"Thank you." you say giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before shooing him away. 

Your consultation with Pansy goes about as well as you expect. 

"Cologne." she says definitively once you ask her. "Something expensive, with cedarwood or amber." 

"What's wrong with the way he smells now?" you ask, frowning. 

"It's fine, but it's not impactful," she says, leaning forward and gently poking your chest with a manicured finger. "A proper wizard needs a signature scent. Trust me. Pick up something from that high-end apothecary in Paris. If you give him cedarwood, he’ll actually wear it just to keep you happy."

"Besides, every time he puts it on, he'll think of you. Romantic, isn't it?" she says with a satisfied smile. "You'll be thanking me later, I promise." 

You watch her as she walks off, chewing the inside of your cheek as you give the idea some thought. Another bust. Theo doesn't like attention (nothing screams attention like cologne), and the last thing you'd want to do is give him something that will make him uncomfortable, but that he'll still use out of obligation because you gave it to him.

You decide to retreat back to the common room, running into Draco on your way there. Your interaction with him is so short lived however, you’re not even sure you can call it a conversation. 

He laughs in your face not even a second after you finish speaking. "If you don't know what to get Nott for his birthday, then you shouldn’t be dating him." 

Jerk. So much for that. 

You head into the common room, dragging your feet as you practically throw yourself onto the nearest sofa, groaning into a pillow. After staying there for a few seconds, you lift your head, scanning the room. Theo's not there, he must be in his dormitory right now, but there are a few stragglers scattered around. Lorenzo Berkshire, your last hope, is currently laughing at a fifth year who's eyebrows are now singed from a particularly nasty game of exploding snap. 

"Enzo." your voice carries across the room as you sit up to face him. 

He looks up at you, his eyes still filled with mirth as he stands up. "Yeah?"

"Quick, come here and keep your voice down." you say waving him over. 

"Oh, a secret. Okay, I can do that." he's whispering now as he comes to sit beside you.

"It's Theo. What do you think he'd like as a gift?" 

"Mmm..how about a snake!" He says grinning and you know immediately he won't be of any help. "A pet that'll stay under his bed and guard his books. It'll even keep him company."

"Enzo, I want to give him a nice gift, not a trip to the hospital wing." You say sighing. "Also, I go to his dorm. Why would I want a venomous snake waiting for me?" 

"Oh right, good point." he smiles sheepishly. "Okay, then get him a bottle of Firewhisky, he looks like he needs it." 

"Thanks for the suggestions, but I'll just think of something on my own." you say, still cringing at the thought of Theo with a snake.

He gives you a shrug before he goes back to his game, already laughing again. Theo comes down now, his eyes searching the room before they land on your figure. A small smile pulls at his mouth as he approaches you. 

"Hey, you okay? Did you sort things out with Parkinson?" he says in that low, calming tone that makes your heart flutter, and now you can't help but feel bad that you've been tiptoeing around him trying to figure out what his friends think of him when he's right in front of you. What were you thinking? You know him better than anyone else, you're the one constantly around him, so why wouldn't you trust your own judgment?

"Theo, do you want to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" you ask softly, your hand finding his as your heart clenches painfully from the overwhelming affection you're constantly feeling for him. The others don't know anything about Theo, your Theo, who stays up until 2:00 AM reading muggle poetry because he finds the structure fascinating, who takes his tea with exactly two sugars but always pretends to drink it black, who secretly keeps dried flowers pressed between the pages of his favorite astronomy books because you had given them to him.

"Yeah, we can go." his fingers intertwine with yours as he watches you carefully. "You sure you're okay?" 

"I'm fine now. I've fixed my problem." 

____________________________________________

On the morning of his birthday, you drag him away to a secluded bench in a hidden corner of the courtyard. You're excitedly tugging him along, and he's still half asleep, but he's always willing to entertain you so he goes wherever you take him. You pull him down to sit next to you once you get to the bench, his eyes clear now that he's fully awake. 

"Close your eyes." you say grinning.

He does without questioning it and you're thankful to him for that. You quickly remove the parcel from the pocket in your robe and you take a deep breath, examining it over once again before speaking. 

"Okay, you can open them now." you say, and your excitement now turns to anxiety as you wait for his reaction to the gift you had put together the day before. 

You know he collects the chocolate frog cards so you managed, luckily, to track down a rare, vintage card of an ancient astronomer he's been talking about for a while. It's tucked inside the front page of a classic piece of muggle literature you had found second hand. You had gone through the book, making annotations and leaving notes for him to read. He'd been eyeing it for a few weeks, but he never bought it because he was wary about its muggle origin, so you just got it for him, problem solved. The final gift is a jumper you charmed with a warming spell, folded and placed neatly under the book. 

He goes through all the items one by one, his lack of response and expression making you unsure about his feelings towards the gift. He looks up at you once he's finished, the intensity of his gaze making you flinch. 

"When did you even have time to do all this?" he says, and he sounds as breathless as you feel. 

"I got them when we were at Hogsmeade yesterday and I couldn't really sleep last night anyway so.." you say fiddling with your fingers. 

He pulls you into a hug so quickly, it knocks the air out of you. You're guessing he likes the gift. You pat his back, laughing softly as his grip on you tightens. 

"Okay, okay. Seriously, you're crushing me." you say, patting his back harder now. 

His grip loosens, though he doesn't let you go completely. "Thank you. Really, it's perfect." he sighs into your hair, his voice wavering slightly. 

You're now immensely grateful you didn't follow any of the silly advice you were given about him. You know now that Theo does like sentimental things as long as they always come from you. Your arms wrap around him now as your head falls onto his shoulder, your voice a content murmur when you speak. "Happy Birthday, Theo."

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Of course, he knows what he's doing. He purposefully starts taking winding, totally out of his way routes to his classes because he knows he'll run into you at least once on his way. He walks alone; thankfully his already established status as a loner makes this inconspicuous and he's free to look at you without the risk of attracting any unwanted attention from his house mates. You always look at him whenever he passes you, you really can't help it and he can always count on your eyes meeting his first. You do realize that you're seeing him more and more now everyday, but you try not to linger on it. You also try not to think about the way your stomach lurches every time he gives you that neutral, almost imperceptible acknowledgment of his. The steely gray of his eyes reminds you of the dark clouds only a Scottish winter could bring; it's unnerving and calming at the same time.

This quiet limbo between the two of you soon becomes harder to ignore over the next week. It's Tuesday, and you're struggling to open one of the notoriously heavy, jammed courtyard doors while balancing a massive stack of library books (Ravenclaws are, unfortunately, not known for their athleticism). Theo, who's been watching from one of the more concealed corners of the courtyard, approaches you with his usual air of indifference, though his heart is fluttering terribly. You don't see him coming, too preoccupied with your losing battle against the door, so when a voice speaks from behind, you jump, your books almost toppling over in your struggle to compose yourself.

"Move." he says, the flatness of his voice matching the lack of expression on his face.

"I was here first." you reply, your annoyance tripling now that he's involved. Again, the weird flipping in your stomach when his eyes meet yours.

"The term will be over before you figure out how to get inside." he snorts, arms crossed.

You look at him for a few seconds, a sharp retort dying in your throat. Your ears turn a bright pink as you straighten up, readjusting the books in your arms, and take a few steps back.

"Fine." you answer reluctantly, the earlier confidence in your voice no longer present.

The door opens after he gives it a good tug and he holds it open without saying anything; he just looks at you. It takes you a few seconds to realize he's waiting for you, and when you do, you bolt through the opening in a second, mumbling a barely comprehensible 'thank you' before disappearing down a hallway. You walk until you reach the safety of your empty classroom, haphazardly tossing the books on a nearby desk before flopping onto the floor. It's quiet now and you're not expecting company until later in the night. You force your heart to slow down until its beating at a reasonable rate; it takes a while for the heat burning in your face to subside. What is wrong with you? You shake your head, giving yourself a nice slap in the face. There's nothing wrong with you, it's just the overwhelming hatred you feel whenever he's nearby.

You wait in the room for a few hours, and the sun has set by the time you hear the familiar crackling of the spell coming to life.

"You're here early." the boy's voice rings out, washing over you.

"Just came here to think." A pause. "You said you're buddies with Nott right?"

"Uh…sure. Why?" Your unexpected question alarms him, and he sits up straighter to hear you better.

"Have you noticed anything off about him lately?"

"Not really. Have you?" he says, keeping his voice steady through his worsening anxiety.

"Yeah. He's being weird. Like, not completely insufferable weird."

"What'd he do now?" he says, feigning ignorance.

"Well, earlier today he held the door open for me. I know he was doing it to be nice even though he was rude about it. Oh and a few days ago, I was in the library trying to reach a book I needed and he snatched it up before I could, but then I found it on my desk later." you say, everything spilling out at once.

Theo presses his face into his hands, a giddy grin blooming across his face in the dark. Naturally, he remembers these things very well. He remembers how he had almost knocked over the bookshelf trying to get said book, and he remembers straining his shoulder trying to get that damn door open for you.

He clears his throat before he starts speaking. "Maybe he's had a change of heart. Or maybe he's just a creep that's stalking you."

You laugh, head leaning back to rest against the cool tile of the wall. "No way. I think he's just sick of wasting his energy on publicly hating me. He only does that stuff when he's alone anyway."

"What do you mean?" he says, the grin slowly falling from his face.

"Well, whenever he's walking with Riddle or Zabini he doesn't even spare me a glance. When he does, he looks at me like I'm something that got stuck on the bottom of his shoe. Every time he's done something remotely kind, it's never around any of them." you say, thinking back to every interaction you've had with him.

"Maybe he just doesn't want his friends to make fun of him." he says, shame and embarrassment causing a flush to creep up his neck.

"Well then they're crappy friends, but that's no surprise considering they're Slytherins. I guess I understand why he's acting like that but it's frustrating. I don't know what to think. How am I supposed to know if anything he does is actually genuine?" you sigh, unable to conceal the bitterness seeping into your words.

"Look at his family. To them you're either pureblood excellence or nothing at all. Do you really think he'd risk their scrutiny over some girl?" his own voice is louder now, the need to defend himself making his words sharper. He's angry now, not at you, but he needs to take his frustration on something and you happen to be here.

A thick, heavy silence fills the room.

He knows he's messed up, and now that there's nothing but silence, the words echo back, sounding much harsher than he had intended them to. He's scared of what you'll say and now he's imagining what your face must look like, which only spoils his mood even further.

"Some girl?" you repeat, your voice quieter now. The warmth of your tone now replaced by a stillness that made his stomach drop.

"I didn't mean—"

"No, you're right," you interrupt, your voice cutting through his panic with a sharp finality. "He's a Nott. His father is a Death Eater, of course he wouldn't risk his precious family name for a Ravenclaw he doesn't even know. I don't know why I was overthinking it. It's just politics."

"It's not—that's not what I meant," Theo's voice is ragged now. He feels sick and the normally comforting atmosphere of the room suddenly feels suffocating. You aren't "some girl", you're "the girl" but he can't tell you that. For his sake, and your own.

"It's fine," you say, the faint rustle of your robes signaling that you had already moved from your previously seated position. "It's late anyway. I have classes early tomorrow, so I'm going to head to bed. Goodnight."

"Wait-" the panic is worse now and he's up on his feet in a second.

The absence of any response is enough for him to know that you've already left.

He stands there for what feels like an eternity in the darkness. The only noise in the room is the faint rattling of the windows as the wind passes every now and then.

"Bloody idiot," he murmurs, kicking the wall hard. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

He didn't mean to get so snappy. You're right about everything, you always are and that makes him nervous.

____________________________________________

The next morning in the Great Hall is nothing short of torture.

He hadn't slept a wink and he was already in a pissy mood, the boys around him only making it worse. He's staring down at the black cup of coffee before him, hoping that if he looks long enough, it'll give him some sort of answer to the problem that's constantly thrumming in his mind. He lifts his head the second you enter the Hall (it's his sixth sense) and his eyes meet yours. This time however, you look away quickly, not acknowledging him at all. Yes he expected this, and yes he deserves this, but it still sends a sharp ache of despair through his chest.

"Rough night?" Mattheo's smug grin suddenly blocks his view as he sits down in front of him, loading his plate up with eggs and toast. "Still getting nightmares?" he asks curiously, words muffled as he stuffs his face.

"You're gross, close your mouth." Theo looks at the boy in front of him, grimacing at his lack of manners. "I'm fine. Worry about all those essays for Binns you still haven't started." he stands up, pushing his plate of uneaten toast away and grabbing his bag. "I'm going to class early." he leaves before anyone can answer, giving you one last look before leaving the Hall.

You're avoiding Theodore Nott. You don't give him a chance to be alone with you anymore, running off the minute you even sense his presence; you don't look at him either. Though you're keeping your distance and avoiding his gaze, you can't help but watch him whenever you happen to share a class that day. His ambigious personality does get on your nerves, but you're more curious than angry. You know nothing about him, not really, so you decide to do some research of your own; from afar of course.

Double potions that afternoon is uneventful as it normally is, except this time you spend your time studying him. Your partner, some Slytherin girl who clearly wants to work on the assignment on her own, doesn't say a word about your lack of involvement and that works perfectly for you. You stare at the back of his head, humming to yourself as you watch him carefully measure and prepare the ingredients.

Theo is completely oblivious. He's sitting a few seats ahead of you, partnered up with Blaise Zabini, but he's hyper focused on his own tasks, isolated to his own world of misery. Your eyes trace his figure, noticing the unconscious tics that come about every now and then. He's chopping sopophorous beans, his long, pale fingers gripping the knife with unnecessary tightness. Every few seconds, you notice his left index finger tap a silent, agitated rhythm against the wooden handle, clearly a nervous habit. Whenever Blaise leans over to whisper some snarky remark, Theo doesn't give him much of a response; his jaw just tightening as he gives him a stiff, slight flick of his head that could almost be considered a nod.

Whenever Snape swept past his table, Theo's posture became even more tense. He'd straighten his spine, his head raising as he assumed an air of superiority that suited a boy with a name like his. He'd answer all the sharp questions sent his way with a flawless, effortless fluency that left you impressed. The second Snape turned away, his robes billowing behind him as he moved to scold a Ravenclaw boy who's cauldron was bubbling with something unfortunate, Theo let out a heavy breath, his shoulders dropping to make him look younger. He'd rub his temple with the back of his hand as he turned his focus back onto preparing the ingredients. You'd watch this happen every time, his expression always sending a pang of sympathy through your chest.

After a few days of observation, you couldn't help but admit that his little habits were endearing and you now looked forward to the classes you shared together. There was just something captivating about watching the prideful, untouchable Theodore Nott let down his guard when he believed no one was looking. He becomes a fixture in the background of your week, a puzzle you study carefully over time.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts that week, the class was instructed to practice complex shield charms. Malfoy, of course, was loudly showing off his casting arc while Theo stood a few paces back, his movements silent and precise. When the professor turned to inspect another student, his cool compusre slipped and he messed up the wrist flick on a jinx; he let out a huff of frustration, his hands combing through his hair a few times as he composed himself. He quickly glanced around the room to make sure no one had seen the mistake, unware that you were hiding a smile behind the textbook you'd been ostensibly reading.

The next morning in History of Magic, a class where nearly everyone (even the ghosts) drifted off, Theo was one of the few still trying to take notes. You sit a row behind him and to the left, which gives you a perfect view of his profile. He's fighting a losing battle against sleep, his head dropping toward his parchment as he struggles to stay upright. Every time he starts to nod off, he jolts himself awake, straightening up as he goes right back to writing. You're wide awake, watching him is all the reason you need not to fall asleep. He's fidgeting with a coin, some odd emblem engraved on it, turning it over and over again in his hand to keep his mind from drifting off. He eventually gives up on the note taking, his chin resting on his hand as he leans forward, staring blankly at the blackboard.

Your amusement when it comes to his behavior has morphed into something much more complicated. It takes you about a week to come to the conclusion that the affinity you now feel for him can only be because of the small, accidental crush you've developed. It's nothing big; you chalk it up to your fondness for pretty faces, though you really can't stop thinking about his eyes, and his hands, and the way his hair falls in his face when he's really focused on something. It's not good for you because now you can't even pay attention in class; you end up staring at him the whole time anyway. It's completely absurd and liking him basically makes you a masochist because you know he'll never look your way. Seriously, he's a Slytherin, his father is terrifying, and up until three weeks ago, you had actively despised him. This is too much for you to bear on your own so you go to the only person in the whole castle who you trust enough to carry this secret with you.

You're jogging towards your abandoned classroom, quickly settling yourself against the wall as your heart hammers with a nervous, giddy energy, eager to spill its contents to the boy on the other end. You tap the wall a few times before speaking, your voice a breathless, quiet rush.

"Are you there? You won't believe the week I've had. I need you to talk me out of something insane."

Theo had been sitting, waiting for you for what felt like hours. He perks up at the sound of your voice, inching closer to the wall.

"I'm here. What happened?" he murmurs quickly, a bit anxious now, like he always was whenever he was unsure about what you wanted to talk about.

"Promise you won't laugh at me," you say, a soft, embarrassed laugh escaping you. "Because I feel like I'm going crazy. I think I have a crush on a guy and it's embarrassing but I just needed to tell you."

He freezes, wondering if his hearing is suffering from the lack of sleep. He waits a few seconds for you to come back and say 'Got you! I'm just joking, dummy!,' but nothing comes.

"A crush." he repeats flatly, an icy suffocating weight suddenly flooding his chest. A guy. You liked a guy. Who could it be? A dumb Gryffindor on the quidditch team? No, maybe you were into that Hufflepuff that's always talking to you in Herbology. A hot wave of jealousy washes over him, his fingers digging into his palms.

"Yeah, very unbecoming of me right?" you snort, oblivious to his turmoil. "Well, you know that I was ignoring Nott for a bit, I told you that. The things you said to me got to my head and I was overthinking things. I was angry yeah, and a bit humiliated but I was more curious than anything. So, I've been watching him for this past week in class, just to understand him better…not in a creepy way or anything."

"Where are you going with this?" his voice is tense and impatient. "What, you like him now or something? He's your guy?" he laughs, the words leaving him before he can stop them.

"…"

"You're joking."

"…"

"You're not joking."

"I told you it was bad!" you groan, covering your face, your voice muffled through your hands.

"Seriously? Theodore Nott? The same guy you've been complaining about for months?" he says this with a scoff, though it's more of a choked sound because he's breathless now and his face is burning furiously. He had a feeling someone was watching him this past week, but he never thought it'd be you.

"I know! I know! I don't know what to do. Tell me I should forget about it, that he's a horrible, arrogant Slytherin that I'm just wasting my feelings on."

"Okay. He's a horrible, arrogant Slytherin that you're wasting your feelings on." he deadpans, though he's smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

"You're being snarky. I'm having a dilemma and this is how you help me?" you say, though there's no real anger in your tone.

"Sorry, can't help it." he laughs, and you can't help but smile now too. It's nice to hear. "But Nott? Have some self respect. He's not the pinnacle of romance if you haven't noticed."

"Don't be mean, I told you it was insane. It's not my fault he's got a nice face." you protest halfheartedly.

"Look, if you're going to harbor a tragic, one-sided crush on a Slytherin, at least pick someone who's not totally off limits."

"Well who else is there? Riddle's an idiot, Malfoy probably cries more than I do, and Zabini is Zabini. Not many options if you ask me."

"For starters, you could turn your attention to any of the other houses. Why'd you choose the worst one?"

"That's harsh, you're a Slytherin too aren't you?" you muse, content with the bickering.

"Well yeah but that's different." Theo's fidgeting with the coin in his pocket now, his fingers tracing the emblem of his family's crest. "Thanks for telling me anyway, it's nice knowing you have issues too."

"You're really the worst. I'm going to bed before you stress me out even more. Goodnight." you say standing up now, your tone light hearted.

"Go to bed creep. Goodnight." he murmurs, standing up too, exhausted now that the tension has left his body.

He dreams of his father that night for the first time in a while.

————————————————————————

Tag list:

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@rafessidemeal

@foolintherainnn

He’s lying on his back in his four poster bed, staring up at the emerald hangings until they blur into dark, unrecognizable shapes. The room is empty except for him, the quiet a perfect background to his pondering. He’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t hear the door opening or the faint footsteps that slowly get louder as they approach his bed.

“You’ll burn a hole in those drapes. Why are you brooding? Also you look like crap.” Blaise Zabini’s voice rings out, his face appearing as he draws back the curtains to look down at Theo.

“I’m not brooding.”

“…Sure”

“I’m not. Go bother someone else.”

“Suit yourself. Go see Madam Pomfrey if you’re not feeling well. Maybe she can fix your head.” He says with a knowing smile on his face before he leaves the room, leaving Theo to his thoughts. He sits up, groaning as he runs a hand across his face. He hasn’t been sleeping well thanks to you. It’s getting to the point where even his housemates notice something’s off. Now they won't get off his back, so he's sleep deprived and also pissed off all the time. He sighs, standing up and exiting the dormitory, his feet dragging as he makes his way towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

“Speak of the devil. What’s wrong with you?” Mattheo raises an eyebrow as he takes in Theo’s approaching figure.

“Shut up.” he murmurs, a headache already starting as he sits down and grabs a piece of toast. He sits up straighter when he sees you enter, something that clearly doesn't go unnoticed by the others. They don’t comment on it though. He watches you intently, the conversation around him slowly fading out. His heart flips violently when you catch his gaze a few times here and there.

“Right Nott? Nott. Theo.” he's suddenly aware of his name being called and he drags his gaze away from you to face the others, who are now all looking at him.

“What?” he says defensively.

“I asked you a question. What’s so interesting over there anyway? An eagle catch your eye?” Mattheo teases, stealing Theo's uneaten piece of toast. “Were you looking at that weird girl? The odd one that’s always covering her ears?” he says through a mouthful of bread.

Theo’s heart drops, his hands gripping his robes tightly under the table. “It’s nothing, I’m just thinking about that essay for Snape I still haven’t started. You’re reading too much into it.” he scoffs, deflecting. “Besides do you think I’d really waste my time like that? On a mudblood?” he sneers. Even though he’s not saying it directly to you, just using that word to describe you now makes him sick.

“Right, sorry mate. Of course you wouldn’t, not with all that Nott pride of yours." Mattheo laughs, clapping Theo on the back. He shoots you one last look before he leaves the hall with the others.

He passes you later (alone), on the way to Potions, and you give him a glance, not expecting anything from him but a sneer. You almost run into the Hufflepuff in front of you when he looks at you and gives you a nod instead of the look of disgust you were waiting for. Before you can process what just happened, he's already disappeared around a corner. What the heck was that?

You walk to class, wondering if the Theodore Nott you had passed in the hallway was really him, or just a productive of your overactive imagination. You shake it off, going through the rest of your day like normal.

He visits you that night, though he's so lost in his own thoughts that he trips on a loose floorboard while he's pacing the room waiting for you to appear.

"Ow, bloody-" he stops when he hears your laughter, clear and warm in his head.

"Are you okay?" you say, the mirth in your tone causing heat to rise in his cheeks.

"I'm fine." he says quickly, his voice a pitch higher than the usual, smooth cadence he normally occupies.

"You sound tense." he can hear you settling down in whatever room you're in, robes rustling as you sit against the wall. "You fall off your broom today or something?"

"No." he mutters, tone sharpening without any real venom. "I'm just tired. Haven't been sleeping much lately."

"Why? Are you having nightmares?" you ask voice softer now, more careful.

"No, it's just my mind won't let me. It's not a big deal, I'll just get a potion from Pomfrey." he says, brushing it off. It's quiet for a second before you start speaking again. Your tone changes, and he can tell that the topic you're about to broach is of a different nature than your previous conversations.

"Something weird happened today." you start, fiddling with your fingers.

"Weird? Weird how?" Theo asks, suddenly anxious. Did someone bother you? Did you figure it out?

"Theodore Nott. I passed by him on the way to Charms and he actually acknowledged me without looking completely offended that I looked at him. The same guy who ruined my books a few weeks ago. That's weird isn't it?" you say, something almost like awe in your tone.

"Oh. Maybe he had a good day." he says, hoping his voice doesn't give anything away. His heart is beating like a rabbit's, and he sits up straighter against the wall.

You scoff, shaking your head. "If his day consisted of tormenting first years, then maybe. Anyway, it was so bizarre! He actually looked...human for a second. Totally threw me off." You hum, completely oblivious that the boy you were talking about was currently holding his breath on his side of the wall.

"Human? Is that a compliment, or are you just disappointed you didn't get to fight with him." he muses, his heart rate now slowing down to a steady, normal pace.

"Honestly, a bit of both." you laugh, stretching your legs out in front of you. "It's much easier to hate him when he's giving me a reason to. When he does something normal like that out of nowhere, it ruins things. There might actually be a heart beneath all that arrogance."

"A heart. That's generous." he snorts. He's been grinning for a while now and his cheeks are starting to hurt.

"Yeah it is, but it was nice. It was kind of polite too. I almost feel bad for calling him a miserable bully to you a few weeks ago."

"Don't feel bad. He deserved it."

"Probably."

The conversation drifts back into the easy, familiar rhythm of the last couple of months. The clock soon crawls past one in the morning, and there were now more gaps of silence between your words, the exhaustion of the day slowly getting to both of you.

"I should go." you yawn, standing up. "If I fall asleep in Ancient Runes tomorrow, I'll get an earful from Babbling."

Theo gets up now as well, stretching; his limbs are sore from sitting in the same position for the last few hours. "Can't have that. Goodnight then."

"Goodnight." your voice echoes back before it slowly starts to drift away until he can't hear you anymore.

He stands there for a while, the warmth of your voice still lingering in his mind. It's not like he'll be able to go to sleep anyway. He's giddy and terrified and more awake than he has been the whole day. He eventually makes his way out of the room, navigating the dark corridors until he's back in his bed. With his heart remarkably light and his mind finally clear, he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

————————————————————————

Tag list:

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@st4rsabove

@foolintherainnn

What’s he supposed to do? He’s not used to feeling this way. Out of everyone it could’ve been why did it have to be you? You, a muggle-born Ravenclaw who hates him more than anyone else in this wretched castle. He’s an idiot, a bloody fool. How could he not have noticed it was you? Your odd sensitivity to everything, your weird habits, and your extensive knowledge of Arithmancy all made sense now.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. For a whole month he’d been opening his mind to you. You actually made the drag of Hogwarts bearable and he liked talking to you. He liked that you didn’t pry or ask too many questions. The only issue is that you're muggle born. A mudblood. The word sits uncomfortably in his throat, heavy and laced with years of ingrained expectations. His father had beaten into his head that people like you were a blight, a lesser class, clearly beneath the notice of people like him. Turns out, he had been rambling to one this entire time.

“Brilliant.” He mutters to himself, kicking a stray pebble into the tall grass nearby. “Just brilliant.”

Theo takes a breath, sitting down now at the base of the tree he had just been kicking. He relaxes for about a second before he remembers he’s left you sitting alone, abandoned, for the past week and then he’s up on his feet again. What the hell is he supposed to say to you? Hey, sorry I’ve been gone for a week, I just realized you’re the girl I’ve actually been calling a mudblood this whole time. Yeah you’re bound to take that well.

He’s pacing again, going through every possible scenario of his return. Maybe he’ll go back and tell you he was sick; that he caught some terrible witchy disease that kept him bedridden for the whole week. No way, she’s too smart. She’d hear my voice and know right away that I’m lying.

He could say that he’s been busy with quidditch (he can barely ride a broom), with homework, and with other scholastic duties. That’s even worse than the first excuse. She’d laugh at me if I told her that.

Or he could go up to his abandoned room and just be honest with you. He could tell you that he knows who you are, and then when you’d inevitably ask for his own identity, he’d tell you the truth. No, I can’t do that. She’d never speak to me again.

That’s exactly his dilemma. He can’t just stop talking to you; he can’t even think about you never speaking to him again without feeling sick. He also can’t tell you that you’ve been talking to a Nott the whole time. You’d find the quickest way to end the connection, motivated by your hatred for him, and then you’d also never speak to him again. Lose lose either way. But the sheer reality of who you were went against every rule he was supposed to live by. If his housemates found out he was mooning over a muggle born through a magical brick wall, he’d never hear the end of it. If his father found out, it would be infinitely worse. He’s stuck.

It's a Tuesday night, exactly nine days of total silence, when you finally hear his voice again.

You’re sitting against the wall, knees pulled up to your chest as you stare up at the ceiling. You stopped bringing your homework with you a few days ago. It's not like you'd be able to get anything done anyway. The room is back to the way it was before the spell mishap; quiet and all yours.

Then, the air in the room shifts.

A sudden breath rings out, clear as day in your head. Your ghost is back.

For a full two minutes, there's nothing but the sound of his uneven, rapid breathing, heavy with a weight that wasn't there before. Theo is trying very hard not to throw up, he hasn't felt anxiety like this since he was a kid. His mouth opens and closes several times as he struggles to find the right words. The anger that had been building up over the last week surges straight through your throat, seeping into your words as you speak.

"You're a real prick, you know that?" you whisper into the dark, doing your best to keep your voice steady. Theo closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to the wall, his body leaning heavily against the cold stone. His tie is loose, his dark hair a disorganized mess from countless hours of running his fingers through it, and his hands were so restless he had to shove them into his pockets to keep them still. Hearing your voice again after so long makes his chest ache sharply and he knows now that he was a fool for believing he could ever stop talking to you.

"I know."

"Nine days," you say, your voice rising, laced with a sharp, heavy disappointment that makes him flinch. "No warning, no note, nothing. If you found somewhere else to go, or if you just got bored of talking to me, you could have just said that. You didn't have to leave me sitting here like an idiot."

"I didn't get bored," he says immediately, voice wavering. His nails dig into his palm, drawing blood. "I swear, I didn't get bored."

"Then what was it?" you demand, now standing up and facing the wall. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you decided this wasn't worth the trouble anymore."

"My father came to the castle," he says, the lie tumbling out in a breathless rush. "He showed up unannounced on Friday morning. The Ministry is looking into some of his old estate records, and he was furious. He stayed in the dungeons for four days, meeting with Snape, and I couldn't leave my common room without him watching my every move."

He swallows hard, his throat tight with a different, much realer kind of dread.

"He only left last night," he whispers. "He took my owl, he checked my trunk... I couldn't risk coming up here. If he had followed me and found out I was sneaking off to an abandoned corridor..." He lets the sentence hang, the implied threat of his father's temper heavy and entirely real. "I'm sorry. I wanted to come. I tried."

The anger that had been tightly coiled in your chest for the last week suddenly loses its heat. It’s replaced by a cold, heavy lump of discomfort.

You knew his father was a pureblood elitist—you'd gathered that much from the way he occasionally talked about his family expectations—but hearing the raw, genuine panic in his voice made the reality of it sink in. He sounded smaller than usual. Exhausted.

"Is he gone now?" you ask quietly, your voice dropping its defensive edge.

Theo lets out a long, ragged breath, sliding down the stone until he’s sitting on the dusty floorboards, his knees pulled up to his chest. He feels like the worst person in the world, but the relief of hearing your voice soften is so intense that he doesn't care that he's lying to you right now.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice echoing in your head. "He left yesterday. But he left a bloody mess behind. I've spent the last twenty-four hours trying to put my room back together."

You sit down now, having calmed down. "He checked your trunk? For what?"

Theo swallows hard, his gray eyes staring blindly into the shadows of the empty room. He was trapped in his own web now. Every word he spoke had to be carefully weighed, because one wrong detail would expose either his identity, or the fact that he was lying. 

"Anything he deems a distraction," he says softly, a sliver of real truth cutting through the lie. "Books he doesn’t approve of. Muggle things. Anything that doesn't align with what he wants me to be." he shakes his head, falling silent for a minute before he speaks again.

"I thought..." he hesitates, his voice dropping to a rough, quiet whisper. "I thought you wouldn't be here tonight. I thought I’d messed things up for good."

"I almost wasn't," you admit, your voice quiet against the stone. "I was about five minutes away from walking out and never coming back up here."

Theo winces, the words hitting him harshly. He pulls his knees tighter to his chest, the heavy fabric of his school robes rustling in the quiet room. "I wouldn't have blamed you."

"Why didn't you just tell me before?" you ask, a faint trace of that earlier frustration creeping back in, though it was softer now, more confused than angry. "If your father is that intense, you could have just warned me he was coming. Or sent a message. You don't have to carry everything like it's some grand, tragic secret."

A bitter, humorless smile touches his lips in the dark. If only you knew.

"But you're here now," you say, changing the subject. "So stop sounding like you're about to face a firing squad. It's annoying."

A choked, completely involuntary laugh escapes his throat. It's a breathless, miserable sound, but it's the first real smile he’s had in a long time. "Right. Sorry."

"Did he take anything?" you ask after a brief silence. "Your father."

"No," Theo murmurs, his voice dropping into that low, direct-to-brain frequency that makes the hair on your arms stand up. "He didn't find anything. I managed to keep hold of... the things I wanted to keep."

"Good," you say softly.

Another stretch of silence settles between the two of you, but the thick, suffocating tension from earlier begins to dissolve, leaving behind a strange, heavy quiet.

"You sound different," you note, your brow furrowing slightly as you listen to the rhythm of his breathing. "More tired than usual. Did Snape actually keep you doing extra work, or are you just brooding?"

Theo stares down at his shoes, a bitter, self-loathing twisting in his stomach. He isn't just brooding; he's terrified. Every time he looks at the wall, he sees the fierce, defensive glare you had shot him in the courtyard nine days ago. If he speaks too loudly, if he uses a phrase he normally uses in class, if he lets his guard down for even a second, this whole thing will collapse and he'll go with it.

"Just tired," he lies smoothly, though his heart is hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "The dungeons get exceptionally cold this time of year. It makes it hard to sleep."

"Well," you say, your voice carrying a hint of that familiar, stubborn edge that usually makes him smile. "You're back now. Which means you still owe me that breakdown of the ancient runes essay you promised to help with.”

Theo closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the solid granite. The guilt in his chest is a heavy, physical ache, but as your voice vibrates safely inside his head, he knows he'll do anything to keep this piece of you to himself. 

"Alright," he whispers, his hand tracing a deep, jagged groove in the stone. He swallows down the bitter taste of his own deception, forcing his voice to adopt that familiar, lazy cadence he always uses with you. "Tell me everything I missed."

————————————————————————

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@st4rsabove

He doesn't like talking about his father, so you never bring him up. He knows more about magical theory than anyone you've ever met. He tells you why he's able to see thestrals. You know his likes and dislikes, his fears and secrets. Yet, despite knowing the architecture of his mind, the only clue to his actual identity is his House. You know he’s a Slytherin; you’ve gathered that much purely from the arrogance and general air of self-perceived superiority that occasionally slips into conversations here and there.

You’ve become close with a stranger who knows more about you than anyone else.

_______

Theodore Nott, for the first time in his life, has something to look forward to.

You’re odd, but that’s no surprise considering your aversion to noise and your niche interest in acoustic spells. He’s startled by his own willingness to accommodate your sensitivity to noise; he keeps his voice down whenever he speaks to you. You have a surprisingly loud laugh—which he finds ironic, considering how much it hurts your own ears when you do it—and he’s reminded of his own childhood when you speak about yours. You drop hints of habits that could only stem from a lifetime of isolation; he picks up on this very quickly.

Whenever you tell him something truly important, your voice wavers, a subtle unsteadiness that makes him lean closer to the stone, and he can’t do anything but hang onto every word. He also knows how much you detest Slytherins and how miserable they make you. Eagles and snakes don’t get along after all.

He’s become close with a stranger who knows more about him than anyone else.

_______

“Hey, why don’t you tap your quill even louder? It’s not like I can hear it or anything.” His voice rings out one night, irritated.

“It helps me think. And you have no room to talk. You’ve been tearing up pieces of parchment for twenty minutes. What’s up with that?” You retort, focused on the essay in front of you.

“Arithmancy," he groans, the sound muffled like he had buried his face in his arms. "Vector gave us a chart that makes absolutely no statistical sense. I’m convinced she made up half the equations just to watch us suffer."

"Oh, please. Arithmancy is just basic logic wrapped in pretension," you scoff, leaning back against the wall. "Give me the third line."

"I am not letting you do my homework."

"I'm not doing it, I'm correcting it because your incompetence is radiating through the masonry and giving me a secondary headache. Read it out."

A long sigh echoed over the link, followed by the rustle of a textbook. He read the line of numbers. He can hear the clear amusement in your voice when you answer. "Your third prime modifier is completely wrong. You forgot to account for the lunar alignment offset."

A pause. Then, the frantic scratching of a quill. "...Shut up."

"You're welcome," you grin, stretching your legs out on the dusty floor. "Hey, did you see that absolute disaster in the courtyard today? The third-year Hufflepuff who tried to transfigure his owl into a teacup and ended up with a teapot that laid an egg?"

A genuine, sharp laugh burst through the connection—not the mocking smirk he used in the hallways, but a real, boyish laugh. "Zabini almost choked on his pumpkin juice. The egg actually hatched into a very confused, porcelain-plated chick. Filch is still chasing it around the grand staircase."

"Good. Filch needs the cardio," you chuckle. You tilt your head back against the cold brick, a sudden thought striking you. "Hey... do you think we've ever passed each other in the corridors? Like, during the day?"

The pacing on the other side stops. The silence that follows isn’t tense or dramatic; it’s just thoughtful.

"Probably," he says quietly, his voice softer now. "Hogwarts isn't that big. We’ve probably stood in the same line at the library, or pushed past each other on the way to the Great Hall."

"It's weird to think about," you murmur, staring at the dust motes dancing in the candlelight. "I could look right at you tomorrow and have absolutely no clue."

"Maybe that's for the best," he reasoned, a lazy, amused tone returning. "If you knew who I was, you’d probably realize I’m far too attractive and sophisticated for you, and it would completely ruin your bookworm confidence."

You let out a loud, dramatic snort. "Oh, please. With a voice that grating? I’ve already pinned you as a scrawny, pale bloke who spends way too much time doing his hair."

Across the wall, Theodore Nott froze, his hand dropping from where he had literally just been smoothing down his dark hair. He blinked into the dark room, a faint, involuntary smile twitching on his lips.

"You're entirely wrong," he lied smoothly, leaning his shoulder back against the stone. "I happen to be the very picture of aristocratic charm.”

"Right. And I'm the Minister of Magic," you scoff. "Go to sleep, dork. You're losing your mind."

"You really have no heart.”

"Goodnight.”

_______

Theo finds the source of his nameless voice much sooner than he expected to.

The realization happens on a Friday afternoon in the courtyard, completely unrelated to the wall, yet entirely catastrophic.

The sky was a heavy, bruising gray, and the cobblestones were damp from a midday drizzle. You were rushing toward the library, your arms loaded with a precarious stack of ancient texts, your mind entirely focused on escaping the chaotic, overlapping noise of students spilling out of the Great Hall.

Naturally, you don’t see him.

You collide directly with a solid shoulder, the impact sending a flurry of loose parchment and small items sliding from your pockets to crash onto the wet stone.

"Watch where you're going," a cold, condescending voice snapped immediately.

You look up, your jaw tightening as you meet the sharp gray eyes of Theodore Nott. He was standing with his hands tucked into his robes, looking down at you with that familiar, clinical disgust that usually made your blood boil.

Theo sneered, stepping forward to kick one of your fallen books out of his path. "Honestly, you people are a blight on this castle. Hey, mudblood, can you even keep up with your—"

He stopped dead in his tracks. The insult withered on his tongue.

His eyes had dropped to a peculiar object that had slipped from your coat pocket, resting in a puddle near his boot. It was a bright red, rectangular Muggle tin of breath mints—Altoids. Theo bent down, his fingers closing around the metal box. The physical item was cold in his hand, a few drops of rainwater clinging to the painted lid. But the moment his skin made contact with it, his mind spiraled.

“They’re peppermint, but they’re really strong,” your voice rang out directly inside his mind, clear as crystal, echoing a conversation from three nights ago. “It’s a Muggle thing. They come in this little red metal tin that rattles like mad when it's almost empty. I use the tin to hold my spare Arithmancy charcoal blocks once the mints are gone, so the lid is permanently smudged with black thumbprints on the bottom.”

Theo froze, his hand suspended inches above the wet cobblestones. He slowly flipped the tin over in his palm.

There they were. Three distinct, smudged black thumbprints of charcoal dust, sealed against the red paint by a layer of clear magic lacquer. He looked up, his own eyes meeting your gaze. Everything clicked into place.

"Nott?" You asked, your voice tight with suspicion as you grabbed your books, reaching out to snatch the red tin from his paralyzed grip. "Are you going to finish your pathetic little speech, or can I have my things back?"

Theo couldn't breathe. The panic that clawed at his throat was cold, sharp, and absolute. He let go of the tin as if it had burned him, stumbling back half a step.

He didn't say another word.

Without looking at you again, Theo turned on his heel and practically fled into the castle, his robes billowing behind him.

The girl who had just been looking up at him with a fierce, defensive hatred in her eyes was the same girl he had been pouring his heart out to for the last month.

He’s so screwed.

————————————————————————

Tag list:

@rafessidemeal

"It's three in the morning," You whispered, knowing the spell would carry it across whatever magical fault line connected their respective rooms. "Go to sleep."

"I can't sleep," he snapped, his voice echoing in your skull with the force of a slammed door. You wince, digging your fingertips into your temples.

You hear him take a breath before continuing. "Every time I close my eyes, the quiet in my room feels like it’s suffocating me. It’s too loud. I can hear my own blood pumping. It’s making me paranoid. Undo the spell, whatever you did, and give me my normal ears back.”

"I can't just 'undo' it," you say, your tone dripping with exhaustion. You sit up now, a fresh wave of annoyance driving away any potential sleep. “It was a misfire. It’s locked into the stone infrastructure of these two specific rooms, I can’t just wave my wand and suddenly everything will be fixed.”

A sharp, irritated breath blew through the connection. "You’re a Ravenclaw, aren't you? Aren't you lot supposed to be clever? Figure it out."

You freeze, eyes snapping open in the darkness. A cold prickle of suspicion washes over you, temporarily overriding your headache.

"How do you know I’m a Ravenclaw?" You demand, your voice suddenly sharp and alert.

A low, mocking scoff vibrated through the link. "Please. You’re fooling absolutely no one. You’re hiding in an abandoned wing of the castle at midnight doing advanced charm modifications, and the literal second I ask you to fix it, you launch into a multi-sentence lecture about 'localized echo matrices' and 'magical geometry.' You sound like a textbook with a pulse. It doesn't take a genius to figure out you're a bloody blue-and-bronze bookworm."

You narrow your eyes in the dark, your cheeks flushing slightly. You hated that he had a point, even if his tone was completely insufferable.

“Right," you say slowly, leaning back against the stone. "Well... if you care so much, and you hate my voice, why don't you just leave the room? Just don't come back to it. Problem solved."

"I can't just leave," he snapped, a sudden, defensive edge slicing through his arrogance.

"Why not?" You challenged. "Hogwarts is massive. Go find another dusty corner to brood in."

"Because I need to be alone sometimes," he hissed, his voice dropping into a fierce, quiet cadence that felt dangerously raw. "The Slytherin dorms are loud and the common room is full of people. This is the only place in this entire wretched castle where no one can find me. I’m not giving it up." He paused, his breathing shallow against the connection. "And if we’re keeping score, you’re the one who intruded on my space. I was here first. You brought your botched magic into the next room and dragged me into it."

You clamped your jaw shut. You felt a sudden, stubborn spike of resistance. "Well, I’m not giving up my room either. It's the only place quiet enough for me to clear my head. I need it.”

"Looks like we have a problem then," he muttered coldly.

"Yeah, that’s why I’m trying to figure this out and your whining isn’t helping." You say, your tone firming up. "Also, for your information, your voice isn't exactly a lullaby either. It’s grating. It’s too loud. If you want me to fix it faster, stop talking and let me think."

"You’ve got some nerve," he hissed. "You're the one who botched a third-year charm and bound my subconscious to a stranger."

"A stranger who just saved you from hyperventilating into your own robes," you remind him coldly.

A heavy, hostile silence fell between you two. You could hear the faint, rhythmic sound of him pacing on the other side—not through the stone, but through the bizarre, direct-to-brain audio feed. Step. Step. Step.

"Who are you?" he asked suddenly, his voice dropping into a quieter, more calculating register.

"Why would I tell you that?" You reply with a scoff. "You're arrogant, you're demanding, and you have zero manners. I prefer you as a nameless voice."

"Fine," he muttered. “Just...keep to the wall then. Be a nameless voice."

"I have classes in four hours," you sigh, closing your eyes. "But until then, shut up. My head hurts."

"Fine."

"Fine."

--------------------------------------------------------

The Great Hall at breakfast was a special kind of assault on your senses. The clattering of silver cutlery against porcelain, the roar of hundreds of students talking at once, and the heavy scent of fried tomatoes made you want to crawl back into your quiet, dusty corridor and stay there forever.

You kept your head down at the Ravenclaw table, slowly moving your spoon through your porridge.

"Look out, look out, the pureblood royalty approaches," Padma Patil murmured across from you, nodding toward the entrance of the Hall.

You glanced up over the rim of your goblet. Walking down the center aisle was a contingent of Slytherins. At the center was Theodore Nott.

He looked immaculate—robes pressed perfectly, silver Slytherin crest gleaming, his dark hair neatly styled. His face was a mask of cold, aristocratic indifference, his chin tilted just high enough to convey that everyone else in the room was merely taking up his oxygen.

As he passed the Ravenclaw table, a younger student accidentally bumped into his shoulder while rushing to grab a piece of toast. Theo stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't yell; he simply looked down at the boy with a disgust so absolute it felt physical.

"Watch where you’re going," Theo said, his voice smooth, quiet, and cutting. "Some of us don't care to be touched by people who belong in the gutters."

The younger boy paled, stammering an apology before fleeing.

You felt a sudden, violent spike of irritation. What a pompous, miserable prick, you thought, glaring at the back of his head as he moved toward the Slytherin table.

Suddenly, Theo stiffened. He stopped mid-stride, his hand flying briefly to his ear as if he’d just caught a phantom noise. He turned his head slightly, his sharp gray eyes sweeping over the Ravenclaw table. You immediately dropped your gaze, your heart doing a strange, uncomfortable flip.

Weird...

By mid-afternoon, the tension hadn't dissipated. You were heading down to the dungeons for Potions, arms laden with heavy library books you needed for yet another one of your essays. Your ears were ringing from a particularly loud Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and you were moving slowly, trying to keep your balance.

A group of Slytherins was lounging near the dungeon entrance, blocking the narrow corridor. Theo was among them, leaning against the damp stone wall, listening to Blaise Zabini tell a story with a look of mild amusement.

"Excuse me," You say quietly, trying to thread your way past them as quickly as possible.

Theo didn't move an inch to let you through. In fact, as you tried to squeeze past, his arm shifted, deliberately clipping the edge of your stack of books.

The heavy volumes crashed to the stone floor, the echoing thud sending a sharp spike of pain through your already sensitive ears. You gasped, dropping to your knees to gather the parchment that had scattered everywhere.

"Clumsy mudblood," Theo said smoothly, looking down at you with a sneer. He didn't even bother to move his foot, which was currently resting a mere inch from your essay on potion density. "You lot really don't possess an ounce of grace, do you? You clutter up the hallways just by existing."

Pansy Parkinson giggled behind him.

You felt a hot flush of anger rise in your cheeks. You grabbed your books, standing up swiftly. You looked Theo dead in the eye—not with fear, but with a searing, quiet loathing.

"At least my existence doesn't depend on how well I can insult people to feel important, Nott," you say, your voice steady despite the ringing in your ears.

Theo’s eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine malice crossing his features. "Something as pathetic as you should know your place."

You brush past him, your shoulder hitting his with deliberate force, and march into the classroom.

At midnight, you were back.

You slam your books onto the dusty desk in the abandoned third-floor room, slide down the wall, and press your back against the cold stone. You were trembling with anger, the events of the day weighing heavily on your mind.

A second later, the magical connection snapped open.

"You're late," his voice rang out. He sounded tired, the sharp edge of his daytime persona entirely absent, replaced by the hollow, quiet tone of their nocturnal truce.

"I had things to do," You snap. "And I don't answer to you."

"Someone’s in a delightful mood," he murmured. You could hear him shifting against the wall on his side, his robes rustling against the stone. "What happened? Did someone ruin your precious little schedule?"

"No," You say, voice tight. "I just had the displeasure of interacting with one of the most insufferable, arrogant elitists this school has to offer. I was trying to get to class, and he completely went out of his way to knock all my books to the floor, called me a mudblood, and looked at me like I was something he found on the bottom of his shoe."

There was a long pause on the other side of the wall. Theo listened, his posture stiffening slightly as he leaned against the brickwork. In a castle like Hogwarts, and especially among the circles he ran in, that description applied to a dozen different purebloods on any given Tuesday. Malfoy, Zabini, Riddle, himself—it was standard protocol.

"Sounds like typical Slytherin behavior," he said, his tone dripping with a cynical, detached amusement. "You shouldn't let them get under your skin so easily. They do it because they know it riles you up."

"It's not just that they do it," You sigh, burying your face in your hands, voice muffled against your knees. "It's the sheer arrogance of it. They act like they own the hallways and the rest of us are just obstacles in their way. He's a miserable, spineless bully who thinks he's completely untouchable, and honestly, the world would be a much better place if he just learned to shut his mouth."

Across the wall, Theo stared blankly into the darkness of his own room. He felt a mild, fleeting passing thought of curiosity about which of his housemates had caused you trouble, but the thought quickly dissolved into his own exhaustion. He leaned his head back against the stone, while you sat in your own quiet corner, completely oblivious to the fact that the 'horrible person' you were crying about was just on the other side of the connection.

"Well," he murmured quietly, his voice losing its mocking edge. "Welcome to Hogwarts. The people here are wretched. Just stick to your books, Ravenclaw. It's what you know best."

--------------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@rafessidemeal

You’ve always been more sensitive than others. An already noisy world even louder to you. Growing up with this enhanced ability naturally forced you to understand the loneliness that would stay with you for the rest of your life. Your parents did their best to raise you, despite your condition, though their frustration was something you were no stranger to. Old habits from childhood find their home at Hogwarts, where you’ve spent the last several years navigating the corridors and sounds of a place that is very much alive.

You hated the Great Hall. To a Ravenclaw Muggle-born with a sensory system that registered the scrape of silver forks and the roar of five hundred gossiping voices as a physical assault, Hogwarts was a beautiful nightmare. You spent most of your time hiding in the defunct, drafting corridors of the fifth floor, casting quiet charms to keep the world at bay.

Tonight, you had tried an experimental variation of a localized silencing charm—an acoustic dampening spell you had found earlier in a dusty, centuries-old textbook. Your wand hadn’t given you anything but a few pathetic sputters of light, and you were about to call it a day until it suddenly sparked violently, a cold shock of purple magic backfiring through your fingers and seeping directly into the solid granite wall beside you.

The world went dead silent. You sighed in temporary relief, leaning your head against the cool stone.

Then, the stone began to rattle.

It wasn't a sound in your ears. It was a rhythmic jagged vibration echoing violently against your temple. Someone was laughing…no they were crying.

Deep within a hidden architectural pocket three floors down, a boy was unraveling. But thanks to your botched spell, the castle essentially became one giant megaphone, the ragged gasps of whoever it was dragging across your brain like sandpaper.

“God what the hell?!” You cry out, grabbing your head as you struggle to orient yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Theodore Nott, so called pureblood prince, had finally succumbed to the overwhelming pressure that comes from internalized feelings. Yes cynical, cold hearted, always composed Theodore Nott was having a breakdown. Lucky for him, you’re so occupied with the sudden onslaught of sensation that you fail to recognize him.

“Hey stop it” you hiss at the wall, annoyed and in pain. “Your crying is killing my head”

His wallowing is rudely interrupted by a voice coming from who knows where. He freezes, the muffled voice echoing out of the solid granite briefly bringing him back to reality. It sounded like it was underwater, or maybe that was just from the mess of emotions swimming around in his head.

“Who’s there?” He rasps out, voice raw but still sharp with hostility. “Mattheo, I swear if this is you joking around, I’ll-“

“It’s not a joke, you’re hyperventilating and it’s resounding and it’s giving me a migraine. If you’re going to suffocate go do it away from the walls.” You huff, voice clipped and full of frustration.

Theo let out a dry, incredulous gasp. He should leave. He should find this crazy person and hit them upside the head. But his lungs still feel like they’re full of cement and the sheer absurdity of being told off by a wall keeps him grounded where he stands.

“You’re breathing from your chest, that’s why you can’t get a breath in. It’s loud and inefficient.” You instruct through the stone, voice less hostile now. “Match your exhales to the count of four. If you don’t slow your heart rate down and fix your breathing, the noise won’t stop and I’m not leaving until this is fixed. I’ll go crazy. So, breathe out.”

Theo glares at the dark stone, but his body is too exhausted to argue. He forced his chest down and counted. One. Two. Three. Four.

The frantic rattling of the stone slowly levels out until it’s just a steady pulsing.

“That’s better. I can hear my thought now.” You murmur, voice muffled against the wall.

Theo rests his head against the cool wall, his heart rate finally slowing down to a manageable rhythm. “How are you doing this? Speaking through the wall?” he whispers.

“A botched charm.” You reply honestly, the irritation now mostly gone from your voice. “I wanted more silence. I guess the castle thought it’d be funny to give me your voice instead.”

He let out a faint, humorless breath that was almost a laugh. If he knew who you really were—a Muggle-born, the very thing he’s been taught to despise—he would have drawn his wand. But in the dark, stripped of names and ideals and prejudices, you were simply a frequency in the stone. A piece of isolation to mirror his own.

“Don’t fix it yet. The spell or whatever.” Theo murmured into the dark.