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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