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“cause they say it’s a virtue to not let good love go to waste.”
word count: 3,661.
summary: as old feelings become impossible to ignore, you and theo are finally forced to confront the painful misunderstanding that changed everything between you. what began as a harmless night quickly unravels into a truth neither of you were prepared to face.
author’s note:🧍♀️me standing here knowing you all very much want to throw tomatoes at me for leaving this chapter on a cliffhanger. it's worth it though, I promise. now that the truth is out, what do we think will happen next?
♫ begged - olivia rodrigo. nav. chapters. more theo.
Present
June 30, 2003
The Biltmore — London, England
Dear Bella,
It’s a strange thing, falling back into loving you so easily.
A year apart should’ve changed something. It should’ve made me forget the little things. The way you take too much honey in your tea. The way your nose scrunches when you laugh too hard. The way your hand always finds mine when I need grounding, as though your soul knows mine is unraveling even before I do.
But it hasn’t.
Loving you is muscle memory.
It’s instinct and marrow and breath. It’s as natural to me as breathing. I spent a year trying to carve it out of myself, trying to become someone who could survive without you, only to find that every fractured piece still belongs to you anyway.
And now you’re here.
Back in my orbit. Back in my home. Back in the spaces I swore would never know your warmth again because it hurt too much to imagine.
I should be grateful, and I am.
But I’m scared, too.
Because each smile, each touch, each quiet moment beside you feels dangerously too close to before. Like slipping into an old jumper that still smells of home. Like pretending we are untouched by grief, by silence, by all the ways I failed you.
Part of me, the cowardly part, hopes we never speak of it.
That perhaps we can simply continue on like this. You beside me. Nonna healing. Our friendship stitched together so gently that we never have to tug at the seams and risk watching it all unravel again.
But I know better.
You deserve answers.
And I know, sooner or later, you will ask for them.
I only hope that when you do, the truth doesn’t cost me you a second time.
For Always,
Teddy
Present
July 3, 2003
Nott Manor — Dorset, England
The carriage ride to Dorset was far too quiet.
Not uncomfortable, never that, but weighted. The sort of silence that came when something heavy sat between two people, acknowledged but not yet named.
Theo’s fingers were tense beside him, curled tightly enough that his knuckles had gone pale.
Without thinking, you reached for his hand.
His breath caught.
For a moment, you were thirteen again. Sitting in that rattling Hogwarts carriage with autumn fog pressed to the windows, his small trembling hand clasped tightly in yours as skeletal wings moved in the distance.
Only this time, he was no frightened boy.
And yet, somehow, he still held your hand exactly the same way. Like you were the only thing keeping him anchored.
“I’m here,” you said softly.
Theo looked down at your joined hands, then at you.
“I know.”
Nott Manor loomed like a wound against the grey sky.
Tall iron gates, dead gardens, dark stone stained by generations of cruelty. Even abandoned, it felt oppressive. Like the house itself remembered every scream buried within its walls.
The Ministry officials carried on with clipped professionalism, assessing the estate’s value, documenting cursed artifacts, and discussing property transfers.
You barely heard any of it.
Your attention remained fixed on Theo.
His shoulders were rigid, his expression unreadable, but you knew him too well. You could see the war raging behind his eyes.
A week ago, he had received a letter from the Ministry stating that his presence was required for the official magical transfer of Nott Manor. You insisted on coming with him. It had been a point of contention between you for the past few days. Theo insisted that he could do it alone, but when you reminded him that he didn’t have to, the argument died within him.
It helped that Nonna had smacked him upside the head and told him to stop being so bloody foolish. In the end, he was grateful that you had gone with him. It only felt natural to face all the horrors he had overcome with you standing beside him.
When the final signatures were complete and the officials apparated away, silence settled heavily over the grounds.
Theo stood behind you at the front steps, staring at the manor with an expression that wasn’t quite grief.
It was release.
“What happens now?” you asked quietly.
Theo exhaled slowly. “Now, I tear it down.”
You blinked, glancing at him. “All of it?”
He nodded. “Every stone.”
There was something deeply poetic in that. A son dismantling the legacy of the father who had spent his life destroying him.
Then Theo turned toward you, his gaze softer now.
“Though,” he said, almost casually, “I thought perhaps one part of it might be worth rebuilding.”
You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
Theo’s mouth curved into a small, tentative smile.
“Your blood curse research.”
Your breath caught.
“Theo…”
“You’ll want a proper facility one day,” he said. “A place for research. Treatment. Somewhere people who have been failed by old magic can finally be helped.”
You stared at him, unable to speak.
“Nott Manor has been steeped in darkness for far too long,” he said, his voice gentler now. “I think it’s time we finally bring light back into it.”
Your eyes burned instantly.
For once, words failed you.
So instead, you threw your arms around him.
And Theo held you like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Present
July 11, 2003
Nott Manor — Dorset, England
When Nonna was finally cleared to return home, the entire ward seemed to breathe easier.
She flirted shamelessly with her discharge healer, declared for what must’ve been the hundredth time that British tea was an insult to civilization, and loudly informed everyone that she planned to live long enough to see Theo married, preferably to someone intelligent enough to keep him in line.
You laughed so hard you nearly cried.
For a little while, it was easy to get swept up in her warmth. Easy to focus on her sharp wit, her dramatic complaints, and the undeniable relief that she was going to be alright.
But beneath all of it, there was something bittersweet curling quietly in your chest.
This chapter was ending.
Outside her room, once the final paperwork had been signed and the healers had gone over every last instruction twice, the corridor fell strangely quiet.
Theo turned to you then, and before you could think too hard about it, he pulled you into his arms.
He held you carefully. Like he was handling something precious. Something he was still a little afraid he might lose.
And maybe that’s why your breath caught.
You went willingly, your arms sliding around him as naturally as they always had. Your cheek pressed against his chest, and beneath your ear, his heartbeat was steady and strong.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt yourself stop thinking.
You simply stood there, held.
And Merlin, it was terrifying.
Because being close to Theo had always felt like this. Like stepping off something enormous and somehow knowing he would catch you before you shattered.
It was overwhelming and comforting all at once. Like grief and peace had somehow learned to coexist in the same space.
His chin brushed softly over your hair.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than you were used to.
He said it like you wouldn’t have gone through hell and back for him. Did go through hell and back before crawling toward him again. Toward home.
“You never have to thank me.”
Your voice came out softer too, thick with something you weren’t ready to name.
Still, neither of you moved.
For one fragile moment, it felt like the rest of the world had simply disappeared.
Then reality returned all at once.
From farther down the corridor, Cedric stood watching.
His expression was carefully composed by the time you stepped away, polite enough that most people wouldn’t think twice.
But you knew him well enough by now to notice the tension in his jaw. The stiffness in his shoulders.
Theo, thankfully, seemed oblivious.
Cedric offered Nonna a courteous farewell, smiled where appropriate, and played his part well.
But later, when you returned to your office to finish chart updates, the tension he had been swallowing all day finally surfaced.
“You seem awfully close again.”
His tone was light, almost teasing, but something underneath it felt sharp.
You looked up from your paperwork, already tired.
“Theo is my best friend.”
Cedric gave a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Funny.”
Your brows furrowed. “What is?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded.
“Best friends don’t usually look at each other like that.”
Your stomach tightened. “Like what?”
For a second, something flickered across his face. Frustration, maybe. Hurt.
But just as quickly, it was gone.
“Forget it.”
He pushed off the frame and stepped closer, smoothing his expression into something more neutral.
“I made reservations for dinner tomorrow.”
Guilt tugged at you automatically, though it felt weaker than it once had.
“I can’t,” you said gently. “Hermione and Padma are coming over, remember? I told you.”
The shift in him was immediate, even if subtle.
His jaw flexed.
“Right,” he said, though his tone was flat. “Of course.”
“Cedric…”
You weren’t even entirely sure what you meant to say.
Sorry?
Please don’t do this?
I’m trying?
But he was already stepping back.
“Another time.”
The office door shut behind him a little too firmly.
For a long moment, you simply stood there in the silence.
And for the first time, the guilt you usually felt didn’t come rushing in after him.
Present
July 12, 2003
Your Flat — Primrose Hill, London
You had insisted on hosting.
After everything Hermione and Padma had done over the past few weeks, from covering shifts to helping monitor Nonna’s treatment to simply being there when you felt like you might collapse under the weight of it all, cooking for them felt like the very least you could do.
So your flat was warm with candlelight, the scent of garlic and rosemary filling the kitchen, and a bottle of good wine already breathing on the counter by the time Hermione arrived.
She stepped inside with dessert in hand and an amused smile.
“You know,” she said, slipping off her coat, “most people just send thank you cards.”
You grinned, taking the dessert from her.
“And deprive myself of feeding my favorite witches? Never.”
Hermione laughed softly, leaning over to kiss your cheek.
Padma arrived shortly after, carrying an assortment of expensive cheese and looking deeply unimpressed with the state of her evening.
You barely got the door shut before narrowing your eyes.
“What happened?”
Padma sighed the long-suffering sigh of a woman truly burdened.
“Blaise Zabini happened.”
Hermione immediately brightened in a way that could only mean trouble.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Padma said darkly. “Another bouquet.”
You blinked. “Another?”
Padma fixed you both with a look.
“This one sang.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then you nearly inhaled your drink.
Hermione was already laughing too hard to be helpful.
“Not just sang,” she corrected through her laughter. “They harmonized.”
Padma looked genuinely offended all over again.
“They were outside my office.”
“Oh, that’s horrifying,” you said, though you were grinning far too hard for your sympathy to be believable.
Padma dropped dramatically into one of your dining chairs.
“And then, because public humiliation wasn’t enough, I got home to find earrings.”
Your brows shot up.
“Jewelry?”
Padma groaned.
“Custom.”
Hermione clasped a hand over her heart.
“That’s absurdly romantic.”
“It’s absurdly excessive,” Padma shot back.
You leaned against the kitchen counter, swirling your wine with far too much amusement.
“He’s wearing you down.”
“He is not.”
“Oh, come on,” you laughed. “You don’t keep the earrings if he’s not at least making progress.”
Padma pointed at you accusingly.
“They matched my favorite sari.”
Hermione gasped.
“Oh, he’s good.”
“He’s manipulative.”
“He’s thoughtful,” Hermione corrected.
“He’s rich,” Padma muttered.
You were still laughing as you plated dinner.
“And yet somehow,” you said lightly, “you aren’t as impervious as you think to the infamous Zabini charm. It’s working, isn’t it?”
Padma’s scowl deepened.
“It’s not.”
Neither you nor Hermione believed her for a second.
Dinner itself was exactly what you had hoped for.
For the first time in what felt like ages, your flat was full of laughter instead of worry. Between bites of pasta and generous pours of wine, conversation flowed effortlessly.
Hermione updated you both on her latest tea visit with Narcissa at Malfoy Manor, which somehow remained one of the more unexpected developments of adulthood.
“I still can’t believe Cissa asks for your opinions on centerpieces,” you said, laughing.
Hermione shrugged, entirely too casual about it.
“She values precision.”
Padma smirked.
“She likes Hermione because Hermione tells her when she’s wrong.”
“That too.”
You smiled into your glass.
It felt nice, this. To sit here with your friends, surrounded by warmth and normalcy after so much emotional turmoil.
But eventually, the conversation shifted.
It always did.
Hermione’s expression softened first.
“How are things with Cedric?”
Your smile faded a little.
“Rocky.”
Padma frowned immediately.
“Because of Theo?”
You sighed, setting your fork down.
“Yes.”
Neither of them interrupted.
You appreciated that.
“He’s been…off lately,” you admitted. “And I understand why.”
Hermione tilted her head slightly.
“Do you?”
You stared down at your plate for a moment.
“Before Theo came back, I was content.”
The words felt hollow even now.
You gave a small, humorless laugh.
“I had my career. My relationship. My plans.”
Padma stayed quiet, watching you carefully.
“I thought that was enough.”
Hermione’s voice was gentle.
“But?”
Your throat tightened.
“But I wasn’t happy.”
The admission settled over the table with surprising weight.
You exhaled shakily.
“Theo coming back…” You shook your head lightly. “He reminded me that there’s more to life than just tolerating it.”
Your fingers tightened around your wine glass.
“More than surviving. More than settling.”
Hermione reached for your hand without hesitation.
“This is the happiest we’ve seen you in a long time.”
Padma nodded. “She’s right.”
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because they were right.
You were happier.
Even with the confusion. Even with the fear. Even with the ache of unanswered questions.
“I am happy,” you admitted quietly.
Then your voice softened.
“I’m just scared.”
Hermione’s thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“Of what?”
And there it was.
The real answer.
“Losing him again.”
Neither woman looked surprised.
Padma’s expression softened, some of her usual sharpness giving way to understanding.
Hermione spoke carefully, as though afraid to push too hard.
“Have you and Theo talked about what happens now?”
Your silence was immediate.
And telling.
Nonna was healed.
She was going home.
And with that came the inevitable truth neither of you had fully addressed.
“No,” you admitted.
Padma sighed, though not unkindly.
“Then you need to.”
You looked up, troubled.
“I know. We will eventually, it just hasn’t been the right time—“
“No,” Padma said more firmly. “Not eventually. Not when it’s comfortable. Now.”
Hermione nodded. “You both keep dancing around it.”
Padma leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “You can’t build something real by pretending the ruins underneath it don’t exist.”
The words struck deeper than you wanted them to.
Because beneath all the healing, all the laughter, all the moments where it felt like maybe you had found your way back to each other…
There were still ruins.
Still unanswered pain.
Still the very real possibility that silence could destroy you both all over again.
“You need honesty,” Padma said softly now. “Even if it hurts.”
Hermione squeezed your hand.
“Especially then.”
For a long moment, you said nothing.
You simply sat there in the warmth of your home, surrounded by two friends who loved you enough to tell you the truth.
And deep down, you already knew they were right.
Present
July 15, 2003
The Leaky Cauldron — Diagon Alley, London
By the time the group finally spilled out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the cool London night, your cheeks hurt from laughing.
It had been the first real evening where old friendships and new dynamics had merged seamlessly. Somehow, against all odds, your worlds had joined together into something surprisingly natural.
Hermione and Pansy had argued over charity logistics.
Draco and Ron had nearly come to blows over Quidditch statistics.
Luna had spent twenty minutes explaining to Blaise why moon frogs were misunderstood creatures while Padma tried not to laugh.
And Theo, to your quiet relief, had fit right back into it all as though he had never left.
Watching him laugh with Mattheo, argue with Enzo, and exchange sharp insults with Draco felt strangely healing.
Like perhaps some fractured part of the universe was finally correcting itself.
As the others gradually peeled off in pairs and groups, saying their goodnights and heading toward Apparition points or nearby Floo stations, you and Theo found yourselves walking side by side through softly lit cobbled streets.
The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of London around you.
For a while, it was easy.
Comfortable.
Theo shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, shaking his head with genuine disbelief.
“Pansy and Longbottom?”
You laughed immediately.
Theo looked over at you, horrified.
“What in Salazar’s name did I miss while I was gone?”
Your smile widened.
“I think they make quite a cute couple, actually.”
Theo stopped walking for half a second just to stare at you.
“Cute?”
“Yes.”
“Y/N.”
You were already grinning too hard to be taken seriously.
Theo resumed walking beside you, clearly disturbed.
“What do they even talk about?”
You hummed thoughtfully.
“I don’t think they do much talking behind closed doors.”
Theo made a deeply offended noise.
“Ugh.”
He physically recoiled, sticking his tongue out dramatically.
“Please refrain from making me hurl my dinner all over the street.”
Your laughter rang louder this time, bright and unrestrained.
“Fine,” you said, looping your arm through his. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, Teddy.”
Theo groaned. “You’re deeply immature for a healer.”
“And yet you adore me.”
Theo glanced down at you then.
His expression softened in that quiet way of his. The one that almost felt more intimate than words.
“Unfortunately.”
Your chest squeezed unexpectedly.
Moments like this felt dangerous.
Like slipping back into something beloved and familiar without acknowledging how badly it had once shattered.
You could almost pretend, for a little while, that nothing had changed.
That the year apart hadn’t happened.
That there were no wounds still left unspoken between you.
But as you approached your building and the laughter between you gradually softened, reality began to creep back in.
Because beneath the teasing and warmth, there was still something unresolved hanging heavy in the air.
Theo felt it too.
You could tell by the subtle shift in him. The way his shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.
The way his smile faded at the edges.
When you reached your front door, you turned to him.
“Theo.”
His expression immediately shifted.
Guarded. Not closed off entirely, but bracing.
You hated that.
“We need to talk.”
“Y/N…”
“No.”
Your voice was softer than you intended, but no less firm.
You couldn’t keep doing this.
Couldn’t keep accepting half-truths and careful avoidance simply because having him back felt better than losing him again.
“I mean it.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
“Can’t we just… have tonight?”
The question was so quietly vulnerable that it almost broke your resolve.
Almost.
Your heart ached.
“Do you really think I haven’t wanted that?” you asked softly.
Theo’s silence was answer enough.
You swallowed hard.
“I want you in my life,” you said, your voice trembling now despite your best efforts. “But I can’t spend every day wondering if you’re going to disappear the second things become difficult.”
Theo looked stricken.
“I won’t.”
Your eyes stung.
“That’s not enough.”
He looked away, his expression pained.
“It has to be.”
“No, Theo.”
Your voice cracked then, emotion finally splintering through.
“You left me.”
The words landed between you like shattered glass.
“You shut me out without explanation. You disappeared and I was devastated.”
Theo’s breathing had gone uneven now.
“I need the truth.”
For one awful moment, he said nothing.
Then something in him finally gave way.
“I tried to tell you!”
The force of it stunned you both.
The street fell eerily quiet around you.
Theo looked almost sick the second the words left him, like he regretted them immediately.
But it was too late.
Your breath caught.
“What?”
Theo’s chest rose and fell sharply, his composure visibly unraveling.
“After your graduation,” he said, his voice trembling now, “I wrote you a letter.”
You blinked. “A letter?”
His eyes shone with emotion you had never fully seen directed at you so openly before.
“I put it in your bag.”
Your stomach dropped so suddenly it was almost physical.
Theo’s voice was rougher now.
“I told you everything.”
Your pulse thundered.
“How I felt. What you meant to me.”
His laugh this time was bitter enough to wound.
“And you never responded.”
You stared at him, horrified.
“Theo…”
He shook his head, grief and frustration colliding all at once.
“So when you said nothing…when weeks passed…and then Cedric…”
Your voice barely worked.
“I never got a letter.”
Silence.
Not ordinary silence.
The kind that changes everything.
Theo froze.
You felt your own thoughts begin racing.
The train.
Your bag.
Cedric.
Your blood turned to ice.
“Oh my god.”
Theo went visibly pale.
“No.”
But deep down, you both already knew.
Your voice came out sharp with dawning fury.
“He took it.”
Theo looked as though the ground beneath him had vanished.
And suddenly, every confusing moment. Every unanswered question. Every painful misunderstanding twisted into one horrifying truth.
Cedric had stolen your choice.
Your heartbreak ignited into something far hotter.
Rage.
Without another word, you turned sharply toward the street.
“Y/N—”
But you were already moving.
Already furious.
Already shaking.
Because there was only one person you intended to see.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"Girls come and go," Theo said, "But boys are forever" he smirked, raising his glass as they all shared a toast. Mattheo had at least had the decency to press a kiss to your cheek, which made you think you were somehow exempt, above their rule of law and the loyalty that held them together.
You stopped pacing and slumped into your chair as you stared out the window, tears drying as you watched the late spring sun settle into the highlands. Slowly, ever so slowly as you watched it disappear, setting the world in an unforgiving darkness, your agony gave way to something new, something iron hot.
You stood, grabbed your quill, and ripped a piece of parchment haphazardly as you steadied yourself enough to write with such force you nearly tore through the page.
1. Blaise
2. Draco
3. Lorenzo
4. Theo
A slow smile crested your lips.
“I don’t wanna go, we’ve been here before; everywhere I go leads me back to you.”
word count: 4,443.
summary: while nonna recovers at st. mungo's, you and theo slowly fall back into old routines that feel far too natural for two people who spent a year apart. as emotions begin resurfacing and tensions quietly build, you start realizing that there may be more to theo's absence than you ever understood.
author’s note: my poor baby boy. if yearning was an olympic sport, theo would win gold. but truly, bring back men who yearn. anyways, hope you enjoyed. can't wait for you all to journey along with these two 𑣲⋆｡˚
♫ i miss you, i'm sorry - gracie abrams. nav. chapters. more theo.
Present
June 22, 2003
Valentina Grimaldi’s Private Suite at St. Mungo’s — London, England
Dear Bella,
I feel like a fool for ever believing you wouldn’t answer me.
Even after everything, after all the hurt I caused, after a year of silence I can never truly justify, you still answered my call. You heard me breaking and you came anyway. No hesitation. No questions. Just you, as you have always been, finding me in the wreckage.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of your voice that night.
I was terrified. Truly terrified. I’ve known fear before. I knew it when my mother died. I knew it in my father’s house. But nothing compares to the feeling of seeing Nonna unconscious and believing I was about to lose the last piece of home I had left.
And somehow, even then, through all of it, you were the only person I wanted.
No one else.
Just you.
Because you have always been the person who steadies me. The person who makes unbearable things survivable. You walked into chaos and made it manageable. You held me together when I was certain I would collapse.
Watching you these past few days has felt like witnessing something sacred.
You move through hospital corridors like you were born to heal. You bring order where there is chaos. Comfort where there is fear. Even when you are exhausted, you still smile for Nonna. You still reassure me when you have every right not to.
I’m not foolish enough to believe I deserve this version of you after the way I left.
But Merlin, Y/N, I am grateful for it. For every cup of coffee you press into my hands. For every late-night conversation by Nonna’s bedside. For every small glance that reminds me maybe I have not lost you entirely.
Sometimes I think this must be a dream.
You are here. You are laughing with my family again. You are scolding me for forgetting to eat. You are beside me, and after convincing myself for so long that I ruined us beyond repair, I almost can’t bear how badly I want to believe this is real.
I’m not ready to wake up yet.
For Always,
Teddy
Present
June 23, 2003
Valentina Grimaldi’s Private Suite at St. Mungo’s — London, England
Your life became divided in ways that felt both exhausting and strangely natural.
St. Mungo’s consumed your days, your flat held the few hours you allowed yourself to sleep, and Theo somehow occupied nearly every remaining second. Whether it was hospital corridors, family waiting rooms, or late nights beside Nonna’s bedside, you found yourself slipping back into old rhythms as though your year apart had been a terrible, painful fever dream.
It unsettled you sometimes, how easy it still was.
For so long, you had convinced yourself that Theo had become someone distant. Someone unreachable. Someone capable of abandoning you without explanation. Yet here he was again, pale from stress, tie half-undone, curls a mess from repeatedly dragging his hands through them, arguing with healers one minute and forgetting to eat the next.
Your Theo.
It was infuriating how quickly your heart remembered that.
Nonna, thankfully, made recovery impossible to wallow through for too long.
By the third day of treatment, she was already flirting shamelessly with junior healers, demanding proper espresso instead of hospital tea, and loudly complaining that if she was going to survive magical influenza, she deserved to do so with dignity and better linens.
“These sheets feel like sandpaper,” she declared dramatically one morning. “Y/N, darling, if I perish from discomfort, make sure Theodore sues.”
Theo, seated beside her bed with untouched coffee in hand, pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are not dying.”
“Not with that attitude, I’m not.”
You nearly laughed yourself sick.
As if Theo’s constant hovering were not enough, his family began arriving in carefully coordinated waves, each somehow more overbearing than the last.
They came armed with homemade broths from Italy, enchanted blankets, flowers, healing tonics, and enough familial anxiety to smother an entire ward. Every visit turned into a dramatic display of affection, with multiple cousins speaking over one another while insisting Nonna rest more, eat more, or stop flirting with attractive healers.
Nonna despised it.
“For the love of Merlin,” she snapped one afternoon as one cousin attempted to adjust her pillows for the fifth time in ten minutes. “Will you all leave me alone?”
The room fell silent instantly.
“I am ill, not incompetent,” she continued sharply, swatting away wandering hands with surprising force for someone in recovery. “Y/N is taking perfectly good care of me, and I do not need my absurdly overbearing family poking around every second of every day like I’m on death’s doorstep.”
One of Theo’s aunts looked mildly offended. “We’re just worried about you.”
“And I appreciate that,” Nonna replied dryly, settling back against her pillows with regal irritation. “From a reasonable distance.”
You had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
Theo, meanwhile, looked entirely unfazed by this particular brand of his family’s chaos.
“Besides,” Nonna added, gesturing lazily toward you. “Y/N is far more competent than half of you combined. If I require anything, I’ll ask her.”
That seemed to satisfy her far more than it did the rest of her family, though begrudgingly, the cousins retreated.
Theo caught your eyes from across the room, his mouth twitching with poorly concealed amusement.
And yet, beneath all the dramatics, it was impossible not to be touched by the fierce devotion surrounding her. Theo’s family loved loudly, stubbornly, and with enough force to fill every sterile hospital corner with life. Watching him slip so easily back into that role, beloved grandson, exhausted caretaker, cherished family, stirred something warm and painful inside you.
And slowly, despite the fear that had brought you all here, warmth returned.
You fell back into routines that once felt like second nature. You scolded Theo when he skipped meals. He walked you to your shifts when he was clearly running on no sleep. You both took turns adjusting Nonna’s blankets, reviewing potion rotations, and pretending her increasingly outrageous comments didn’t leave you blushing.
The ward itself began to feel less like a place of illness and more like an extension of Theo’s chaotic, loving world. Between his cousins, your friends, and Nonna’s relentless personality, laughter became just as common as medical charts and potion refills.
One particularly late evening, after a fourteen-hour shift, you found Theo asleep in the chair beside Nonna’s bed.
His neck was bent awkwardly, one hand still loosely holding Nonna’s. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and for once, his guarded expression had softened into something heartbreakingly vulnerable.
You stood there for a long moment, simply looking at him.
For all the hurt he caused, all the questions still unanswered, Theo’s love had never been something you truly doubted. Not when it came to the people he cared for.
Quietly, you draped your cardigan over his shoulders.
Theo stirred almost instantly, blinking up at you through sleepy confusion. “You should be resting.”
You crossed your arms. “That was going to be my line.”
A tired smile tugged at his mouth. “I missed this.”
Your breath caught before you could stop it.
“Missed what?”
“You bossing me around.”
You rolled your eyes, but your chest ached all the same.
Because Merlin help you, you missed it too.
Present
June 24, 2003
Your Flat — Primrose Hill, London
At first, Cedric tried to be understanding.
He sent flowers to the hospital. Checked in on Nonna. Asked how Theo was doing with enough politeness that it almost felt genuine. For a while, you convinced yourself that maybe your fears were misplaced. Maybe he truly did understand why Theo needed you right now.
But understanding had limits.
Especially when it became increasingly obvious that Theo was slipping back into spaces Cedric had once occupied alone.
You noticed it in the subtle hints first.
The way Cedric’s smile tightened when you canceled dinner because Theo had forgotten to eat again. The way his questions lingered just a little too long whenever you mentioned spending the night at St. Mungo’s. The way his hand at your waist sometimes felt less affectionate and more possessive.
“You’ve been with Theo a lot lately.”
The comment came one evening as you kicked off your shoes near your front door, exhaustion pulling at every limb.
You sighed, already too tired for whatever this conversation was about to become. “His grandmother is recovering from magical influenza, Ced. I’m helping.”
“I know,” he said, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. His tone was measured, almost careful. “I’m just saying…he seems to need you an awful lot.”
You frowned. “He’s my best friend.”
Cedric was quiet for a moment. He wasn’t angry. And the silence wasn’t malicious. Just quiet enough that something in your stomach twisted.
Then he gave you a small smile, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes.
“Right,” he said softly. “Your best friend.”
That gave you pause.
And guilt, though you resented it.
Because part of you understood his frustration. You had been distant. Distracted. Emotionally consumed by Theo’s return and everything it unearthed. But another part of you bristled at the implication beneath his words.
Theo wasn’t some temporary inconvenience.
He was your person, whether you were ready to unpack that or not.
You crossed your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged, pushing off the counter. “I just think it’s interesting.”
“Interesting?”
Cedric’s expression remained calm, but there was something beneath it now. Something sharper.
“That the person who left without a word for a year suddenly needs you again, and you’re still the one dropping everything.”
His words weren’t raised. They weren’t biting. If anything, they were delivered with the kind of quiet reasonableness that made them sting that much more.
You blinked.
“Cedric.”
“I stayed,” he said simply. “He didn’t.”
The words settled heavily between you.
It wasn’t an accusation. Worse, it was the truth. Just honest enough to make you feel defensive, even if you weren’t entirely sure why.
You hated that.
Because part of you understood what he meant. Theo had hurt you. Deeply. There were still wounds there, even if the recent week had begun softening them. And Cedric had been there during that pain. Steady, present, safe.
But something about the way he said it made your chest tighten.
As though Theo’s absence had become less about your hurt and more about a debt Cedric believed should now be owed.
You straightened slightly. “Theo made mistakes. I’m angry about them too. But Nonna is sick, and he’s…” You hesitated. “He’s still Theo.”
Cedric’s jaw ticked faintly.
“Right,” he said again, quieter this time. “Of course.”
He stepped forward then, pressing a kiss to your forehead with practiced tenderness.
“I’m just looking out for you.”
You nodded, but the unease remained.
Because his words sounded caring. Protective, even.
And maybe that was what unsettled you the most.
That for the first time, you couldn’t quite tell whether Cedric was worried about your heart…
Or threatened by who still held it.
Present
June 25, 2003
The Biltmore — London, England
It happened almost by accident.
Theo had stepped out to take a Floo call regarding estate matters, temporarily abandoning the lavish private suite he had taken over at the Biltmore in Mayfair. He claimed it was practical, close enough to St. Mungo’s that he could reach Nonna within minutes.
But you knew better.
The truth was written in the way his jaw tightened whenever Nott Manor was mentioned. In the way he always found an excuse not to return there unless absolutely necessary. The grand estate may have legally belonged to him now, but it was still crowded with ghosts, and Theo had never been particularly eager to be alone with them.
So instead, he stayed in polished luxury. Marble floors, private staff, absurdly expensive liquor, and enough distance from his childhood home to breathe.
For once, his absence gave the others free rein to speak without his interruption.
“Honestly,” Blaise said, pouring himself absurdly expensive whiskey from Theo’s private reserve, “it’s nauseating how respectable he’s become.”
The group had migrated back to Theo’s suite after visiting hours at St. Mungo’s ended, largely because Nonna had all but ceremoniously thrown you all out.
Apparently, being adored by half of wizarding Britain was exhausting work.
“You’re all hovering,” she had declared dramatically, waving a frail but commanding hand toward the door. “I survived magical influenza, not a dragon attack. Go. Be young, be reckless, and stop staring at me like I’m halfway to the grave.”
Theo, naturally, had argued.
Nonna, naturally, had won.
So now, tucked away in the polished luxury of Theo’s hotel suite, surrounded by expensive liquor, room service, and the kind of old-money elegance that somehow still felt less oppressive than Nott Manor, your chaotic little circle had settled in for the evening.
Pansy smirked. “I prefer him emotionally unstable, personally.”
Draco snorted. “You would.”
You glanced between them, confused. “What are you all talking about?”
Mattheo leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. “You mean Theo didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Enzo gave a low whistle. “Bloody hell. He really hasn’t.”
Your confusion deepened.
And then, piece by piece, they told you.
About the hospitals Theo funded in magical communities rebuilding after the war. The scholarship programs he created for underprivileged magical children. The safe houses. The rehabilitation programs for families displaced by Death Eater violence.
Even St. Mungo’s had benefitted from his donations.
Your stomach dropped.
Draco swirled his drink, almost too casually for the weight of what he was saying.
“The rare blood curse initiative at St. Mungo’s?” he said. “Theo funded most of it.”
Your breath caught.
“What?”
Pansy’s expression softened, just slightly. “After your father…” she said carefully. “Theo never stopped looking for answers. He said no family should lose someone the way yours did if he could help it.”
Your mind reeled.
So much of the past year had been defined by your pain. By Theo’s silence. By the unanswered questions and anger you had clung to just to survive his absence. You had spent so long mourning the boy who left that you had not stopped to consider the man he became while he was gone.
And that man, apparently, had been rebuilding pieces of the world.
Your world.
This version of Theo didn’t align with the broken boy who had fled London without looking back.
This Theo had taken his pain and built something meaningful from it.
Not perfection. Not sainthood. He was still frustrating, emotionally repressed, and occasionally unbearable. But beneath all of that he had become extraordinary.
The room shifted subtly as conversation dulled into something softer, heavier—like even your friends understood there was only so much of this you could take in at once.
Eventually Theo returned, though the others said nothing of what had been said in his absence. The conversation seamlessly bent around him, carefully rerouted, as though it had never strayed into dangerous territory at all.
But you noticed the way Blaise glanced at you meaningfully. The way Pansy’s silence lingered just a fraction too long. The way, Draco, for once, looked almost…hesitant.
You understood then, in a quiet, unsettling way.
They hadn’t told you because Theo had wanted them to.
He never would have.
Theo didn’t do things for recognition. He didn’t explain himself. And he certainly didn’t offer pieces of his life that might force someone to look at him too closely.
He had never meant for you to know.
But they had told you anyway.
And in their own blunt, imperfect way, you saw it for what it truly was. It was honesty. It was trust. It was a quiet refusal to keep you in the dark any longer about a man who had already shaped so much of your life without you ever being fully allowed to see how.
Still, Theo said nothing when he rejoined you.
Not a question. Not a glance that lingered too long. Nothing that acknowledged the shift that had already occurred in his absence.
If anything, he seemed to assume the world had stayed exactly as he left it.
And you wondered, with something tightening faintly in your chest, whether he had intended to keep it that way forever.
You didn’t realize you had moved until you were standing near him.
Theo noticed immediately.
His gaze lifted the second you entered his space, sharp in instinct but careful in restraint, like he was already bracing for impact without knowing what form it would take. There was a guarded stillness to him now—quiet, controlled, unreadable in the way only Theo could be when he was actively trying not to reveal anything at all.
But his eyes lingered on yours just a fraction too long.
Like he already knew this wasn’t going to stay contained.
“Did you really fund my research?” you asked quietly.
The room didn’t move. No one dared to speak.
Theo didn’t react at first. Just a slow exhale through his nose, like the question itself had landed heavier than it should’ve, like it had bypassed every defense he’d built and wrecked whatever armor he had left.
“Yes,” he said at last.
Simple. Sure. Final.
There was no attempt to soften it. No explanation offered before you could ask for one. Just the truth, given reluctantly like he had always known this moment might come and had hoped—foolishly—that it wouldn’t.
Your throat tightened.
“Why?”
The question landed differently.
Not because he didn’t expect it. But because he did. Because he had rehearsed every possible outcome of this conversation except the one where you were standing in front of him, asking it like you didn’t already know the reason behind everything he did.
A pause followed.
Theo’s jaw tightened slightly, a familiar tell—something internal shifting behind his expression as he chose between silence and something irreversible. For a second, it looked like he might do what he always did. Deflect. Dismiss. Disappear behind something easier than honesty.
But then his eyes lifted.
And this time, there was nowhere for him to hide.
“Because it’s you,” he said.
No embellishment. No strategy. No careful distance wrapped around the declaration.
Just the plain, simple truth.
Like it wasn’t a confession at all. Like it was something so self-evident it should’ve never needed to be spoken.
The silence that followed didn’t feel like shock. It didn’t even feel like disbelief.
It felt like stillness after impact.
Like something had already changed shape and there was no pretending it hadn’t.
Because there it was. The thing Theo never seemed to understand about himself. He did extraordinary things as though they were ordinary. Carried unbearable burdens as though they were expected. Loved with such devastating depth that sometimes it looked self-destructive.
And somehow, despite everything, he seemed entirely unaware of the weight of it.
The room felt too far away suddenly, like it belonged to a version of your life you no longer knew how to access.
Your heart did something deeply inconvenient.
Because perhaps the cruelest thing about Theodore Nott was that even after all the damage, he somehow kept becoming more impossible to not love.
Present
June 26, 2003
St. Mungo’s Cafeteria — London, England
Your mother arrived on a rainy Thursday afternoon with fresh flowers, homemade pastries, and the unmistakable energy of a woman prepared to lovingly scold anyone necessary.
Theo barely had time to stand before she was wrapping him in a fierce embrace.
“Theodore Nott,” Estelle said firmly, pulling back just enough to inspect his face. “You look dreadful.”
Theo, to his credit, looked appropriately chastened. “Hello, Estelle.”
“You vanished for a year.”
“I know.”
“You broke my daughter’s heart.”
His expression crumpled. “I know.”
And then, because your mother had always loved him as fiercely as she loved you, she cupped his face and sighed.
“You foolish boy.”
Earlier that afternoon, before the weight of anything unspoken had fully settled into the room, Estelle had found Nonna in the small sitting area near her private suite’s window.
A wizard’s chessboard was already set between them.
Neither woman asked permission. Neither needed to.
Nonna had simply tapped the board with her wand and declared, “You look like you play to win.”
Estelle had smiled. “Only if my opponent does.”
The first game was silent—measured, sharp, both of them moving pieces with quiet precision of witches far more observant than they ever let on.
By the second game, Nonna had begun to study her properly.
“You think three moves ahead,” Nonna noted, watching Estelle’s queen dismantle her defense.
Estelle didn’t look up. “Only three?”
A flicker of amusement crossed Nonna’s face.
By the third game, Nonna leaned back slightly in her chair.
“It’s refreshing,” she said at last, “to finally have someone intellectually stimulating around this place.”
“I imagine not many people in your life are able to contend with a mind as sharp as yours.”
Nonna studied her for a long moment, then added, almost idly, “I can see where Y/N inherited her wit. And her intellect.”
Estelle’s hand paused over her next move.
Then, without looking up from the board, she said lightly, “And I can certainly see where Theodore gets his stubbornness from.”
Nonna’s lips twitched faintly. “Careful.”
Estelle finally lifted her gaze. “It isn’t an insult.”
A beat of silence passed between them—quiet, deliberate, weighted in a way that suggested both women were thinking several moves ahead of the conversation they were actually having.
Estelle adjusted a knight on the board. “If anything, I find it oddly reassuring.”
Nonna gave a soft hum, studying the board. “Reassuring?”
Estelle looked up then, warmth threading through her expression. “It explains quite a lot actually.”
“The boy has always mistaken suffering in silence for strength," Nonna said dryly, adjusting one of her pieces. “A truly maddening quality.”
Estelle laughed softly, a warm, familiar sound.
“Funny,” she said, glancing up from the board. “I was just about to say the same thing about my daughter.”
That earned a genuine flicker of amusement from Nonna.
“Ah,” she murmured. “Then perhaps we are dealing with two equally impossible children.”
“Without question,” Estelle agreed, moving her next piece. “Though in fairness, they do come by it honestly.”
Nonna gave a quiet, thoughtful hum, her expression softening by a fraction.
“Unfortunately,” she said, “stubborn hearts rarely learn the easy way.”
For a moment, silence settled comfortably between them, filled only by the soft clink of enchanted chess pieces and the distant murmur of hospital life beyond the suite.
Then, with effortless precision, Nonna moved her queen.
“Check,” she said calmly.
Estelle blinked, then laughed under her breath.
“Oh I do enjoy your company, Valentina.”
Nonna’s smile was small but genuine.
“Of course you do, Estelle.”
Later, while Nonna rested and you slipped away to check potion inventories, Estelle found Theo alone near one of the corridor windows.
“Walk with me.”
Theo obeyed immediately.
For several moments, they walked in silence. Theo’s hands remained tucked into his pockets, posture slightly tense in the way it always was when he sensed emotional danger.
Estelle guided him into the nearly empty cafeteria, and without ceremony, placed a warm plate in front of him. A homemade meal—simple, comforting, and made with care in a way that filled him with bittersweet nostalgia.
“Eat,” she said.
Theo hesitated. Then did as he was told.
For a while neither spoke. Only the soft clink of cutlery and the weight of being observed too closely by someone who already knew too much echoed in the silence.
Then Estelle spoke.
“Y/N told me about your donation.”
Theo’s fork paused midair. “She did?”
Estelle nodded. “Why didn’t you tell her yourself?”
Theo sighed, setting the fork down carefully. “I didn’t do it for recognition.”
“No,” Estelle agreed. “You’ve always been very good at disappearing behind your actions.”
Then without warning, she reached across the table and took his hand. Firm. Certain. Unavoidable.
“You love her, don’t you?”
Theo went still.
“How…how did you know?”
Estelle smiled sadly. “A mother knows her child, Theodore.”
And something in him cracked open.
“I do love her,” he said quietly.
The words sounded like they had been waiting years to leave him.
“I love her more than anything in this world. She’s my person. My home.”
Estelle’s eyes shone.
“I know, sweetheart,” she whispered.
Estelle squeezed his hand gently. “And I think you’re hers too.”
Theo shook his head, tamping down the false hope rising in his chest.
“She’s with Cedric,” he said. “It hurt, at first. That’s why I left.”
His jaw tightened.
“But if loving her means watching her be happy with someone else, then I’ll do it with a smile on my face. Because it’s better than not having her in my life at all.”
Estelle was quiet for a long moment.
Then she stood and pulled him into a fierce embrace that cracked whatever fragile composure Theo had been clinging to.
“No matter what happens between you and my daughter,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion, “you will always be family to me.”
Theo’s breath hitched.
For a second, he didn’t move.
Then she pulled back just enough to look at him properly.
“I think Christoph would’ve loved you,” she said quietly.
Theo froze.
“My husband,” she added gently. “Y/N’s father.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“He would’ve loved you because you love her so deeply, so selflessly, that it’s written in everything you do,” she said. “And because you’re kinder than this world ever allowed you to believe you ought to be.”
Her grip tightened slightly.
“And because even when you think you’re doing nothing,” she added, “you’re still loving her in the ways that matter most.”
Theo’s breath caught.
“I don’t know how long you’ve been carrying that weight alone,” Estelle said softly, “but you don’t have to anymore.”
Theo didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
When you returned later—potion train carefully balanced in your hands—you found Theo quickly wiping his face while your mother looked suspiciously emotional and far too satisfied with herself.
You narrowed your eyes. “Should I be concerned?”
Estelle smiled brightly. “Not at all, darling.”
Theo cleared his throat. “Your mother is terrifying.”
You smirked. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, laughter came easily.
Not because everything was fixed.
But because maybe, just maybe, you were finally finding your way home.
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