Serpentsandsecrets

I had not expected to see Theo Nott again.

I had learned, over the years, not to expect him anywhere. Not in passing conversation, not in letters, not in places where people gathered to celebrate survival. He had become someone I kept carefully in the past, sealed away with the other things I had loved and lost.

Then I looked up.

He was standing across the room, near the tall windows, a glass untouched in his hand. He was older, unmistakably so, though not in any way that made him unrecognisable. Time had not softened him. If anything, it had sharpened him. There was a weight to him now, a stillness that came from having learned how to endure.

Seeing him like that pulled me backwards.

We had fallen in love at Hogwarts, slowly and without intention. It had never announced itself. It had grown in quiet moments, in shared looks across the Slytherin table, in low conversations that lingered long after they should have ended. We had spent evenings in the common room pretending not to notice how close we sat, how naturally his knee rested against mine.

Theo had always been careful with me.

He had never been one for grand gestures or public affection. He showed his feelings in smaller ways. He brought me tea when I stayed up studying too late. He waited outside classrooms without explanation. He touched my hand only when he was certain I would not pull away.

The night we first kissed had been cold and clear. It had happened in the Astronomy Tower, stone chilled beneath our palms, stars scattered above us like witnesses. His hands had shaken when he held my face, and I had known, with a certainty that frightened me, that I was already lost.

We had stayed together through everything that followed.

Through rumours and shifting loyalties. Through the war creeping closer until it was no longer something happening beyond the castle walls. Theo had grown quieter during those months, more withdrawn. There were nights he did not sleep, days he barely spoke, except to me.

Without realising it, I had become his anchor.

I had seen the cracks long before anyone else did. The pressure from his family. The expectations placed upon him. The fear he carried with him everywhere. I had loved him fiercely, but love had never been enough to protect either of us.

The end had come late one night.

The castle had been heavy with tension, thick with whispered rumours and unease. I had found him in an unused classroom, standing at the window, his hands braced against the sill.

He had not turned when I entered.

They had wanted him to choose. He had not needed to say who they were.

When I asked him what he wanted, he had gone quiet. That silence had told me everything I had not wanted to hear.

He had said they were watching him. That if he did not play his part, they would make an example of him. Or of me.

I had told him we could leave. That we could find a way together.

He had looked at me then with an expression I still remembered too well. Exhausted. Frightened. Resolved.

He had told me that loving me was the weakness they were waiting for.

I had argued. I had begged. I had told him he did not get to decide my fate for me. He had said things he did not mean because he believed cruelty would make it easier for me to walk away. I had said things I regretted because I needed him to fight for us.

He had not.

When I had left that night, my hands had been shaking so badly I could barely steady myself.

We had never said goodbye.

The war had ended eventually, in ruins and silence and names carved into stone.

I had left not long after. I had not told anyone where I was going. It had hurt too much to remain somewhere that echoed with him. His name had followed me through every corridor. His absence had followed me everywhere else.

Years had passed.

I had built a life. I had survived. Some days had been easier than others. Some nights I had still dreamt of dark hair, careful hands, and the way he had once looked at me as though I were the last soft thing left in the world.

And now he was here.

Across the room, Theo looked up.

When his eyes met mine, the years between us collapsed into nothing at all.

In that moment, I understood something I had spent years avoiding.

Some loves did not end.

Architect Theodore Nott x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 9,500 words

The taxi wound its way through the narrow Tuscan roads, sunlight spilling over the hills in shades of gold and green. Rows of olive trees stretched endlessly in every direction, their silver leaves glinting in the morning light.

Y/N pressed her forehead against the glass, watching the landscape blur by. It had been years since she’d last been to Italy — and she had never imagined she’d return for this.

Her grandmother’s will had been short and strange:

“To my granddaughter, Y/N, I leave Villa Fiore and everything within it. Take care of what I couldn’t finish.”

Y/N had thought it would be a small cottage, maybe an overgrown garden. She hadn’t expected a sprawling estate — the kind that looked like it had been plucked out of a painting and left to crumble.

When the taxi stopped, she stepped out and stared. The villa sat proudly atop a hill, its faded stone walls overrun with ivy, wooden shutters hanging crookedly. The scent of wild rosemary and lemons filled the air, carried by the warm breeze.

She turned slowly, taking it in — the dry earth, the cypress trees lining the path, and, at the edge of the property, a single ancient olive tree, its branches twisted and silver.

Somehow, it felt alive. Watching her.

“Y/N?”

She turned sharply. A man stood by the gate, hands in his pockets, sunlight catching in his dark curls. He wore a linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, sleeves dusted with paint or plaster — she couldn’t tell which.

“Theodore Nott,” he said, offering a small smile. “Your solicitor said you’d be arriving today.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re—?”

“The restoration architect,” he said easily. “Your grandmother hired me years ago, before she… stopped the work.”

He looked past her toward the villa, expression softening with something that looked like nostalgia — or maybe regret.

“I promised her I’d see it finished.”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the olive tree swaying gently in the wind. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me for a while.”

Theo’s mouth quirked into a faint smile. “Wouldn’t dream of complaining.”

He turned to unlock the gate, the metal creaking as it swung open. “Come on. You should see what she left behind.”

As Y/N followed him up the path, dust rising beneath her feet, she caught the faintest glimmer of something beneath the old olive tree — something metallic half-buried in the soil.

A box.

But she didn’t see it then. Not yet.

The past was patient — and it was waiting for her to look.

The villa looked even larger in daylight. Every corner seemed to whisper a story: chipped paint revealing older layers beneath, sunlight catching on forgotten chandeliers, the faint scent of lavender and time hanging in the air.

Y/N pushed open one of the tall doors that led to the terrace. The hinges groaned in protest, but when the door finally gave, a soft breeze swept through, stirring the dust. Beyond, the valley stretched endlessly — olive trees, vineyards, terracotta rooftops. It was heartbreakingly beautiful, in a way that made her chest ache.

Behind her, Theo’s voice broke the quiet. “It’s been years since anyone’s lived here properly.”

She turned. He stood in the foyer, sleeves rolled up, hands smudged with chalk and dust. His shirt clung to his shoulders in the heat, a pencil tucked behind one ear. He looked completely at ease — like he belonged here in a way she didn’t.

“You’ve been working here before?” she asked, stepping closer.

He nodded, eyes scanning the cracked ceiling. “Your grandmother brought me in when she started restoring the place. She said she wanted to ‘bring it back to life.’”

A small smile ghosted across his lips. “She used to sit outside under that olive tree with her tea. Said it had the best view in all of Tuscany.”

Y/N followed his gaze through the open window. The tree stood proud in the distance, ancient and silver-green. Something about it tugged at her chest — though she couldn’t explain why.

Theo set down his notebook on a dust-covered table and glanced at her. “Do you plan to sell it?”

Y/N hesitated. “That was the plan. But… I don’t know.” She traced her fingers over the edge of the old table. “It feels like there’s something unfinished here. Like she left it for a reason.”

He studied her quietly for a moment, eyes unreadable. Then, softly: “Maybe she wanted you to see what she saw.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in slow rhythm — Theo measuring walls, marking sketches, Y/N sweeping through rooms that hadn’t been touched in years. In one corner of the library, she found shelves still lined with books, their spines cracked and faded. She pulled one out — a collection of poems, Italian on one side, English on the other. A pressed olive leaf slipped from between the pages and fluttered to the floor.

She smiled faintly, brushing it between her fingers.

When she looked up, Theo was leaning in the doorway, watching her with a soft curiosity. “You look like you belong here,” he said, almost as if to himself.

Y/N laughed quietly. “Hardly. I can’t even pronounce half the road signs.”

“Still,” he murmured, eyes warm. “You fit.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, the light shifted, bathing the room in gold.

Later, as the sun dipped low and the cicadas began to hum, Y/N stood on the terrace again. Theo was packing up his tools below, the faint scrape of wood and metal carrying through the evening air.

Her gaze drifted toward the old olive tree once more. The breeze stirred, and for the briefest moment, she thought she heard something — the faint rustle of paper, or perhaps a whisper caught between the branches.

She frowned. Probably just the wind.

But as she turned to go inside, a flicker of silver caught her eye at the tree’s base — something buried in the roots, glinting faintly in the fading light.

She’d check tomorrow, she told herself.

Tomorrow, when the sun was high and the air was bright.

The morning sun was already warm when Y/N stepped outside. A faint breeze carried the smell of olive and lemon, the kind of scent that felt impossibly old — like it had lived here longer than anyone.

She crossed the garden barefoot, coffee in hand, following the same stone path she’d taken the night before. Dew glimmered on the grass, and the olive tree stood waiting, ancient and still.

Up close, its bark looked like folded paper — worn, beautiful, full of secrets. And there, just as she’d seen in the fading light yesterday, something metallic peeked from between the roots.

She knelt, brushing away the dry earth. Her fingers hit the edge of something — a small tin box, rusted around the corners, its clasp stiff but still intact. It must’ve been there for decades.

For a moment she just stared at it, heart quickening. Then she took a deep breath and pried it open.

Inside were letters. Dozens of them, tied with a silk ribbon faded to ivory. The paper was yellowed, fragile at the edges, ink blurred from age.

She untied one carefully, eyes scanning the flowing Italian script — beautiful, old-fashioned, hopelessly romantic.

But she couldn’t understand most of it.

“Should’ve guessed,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Guess what?”

She startled, the letter nearly slipping from her hands.

Theo stood a few feet away, sleeves rolled up, a notebook under one arm. The corners of his mouth curved upward, amused. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Y/N held up the letter. “I think I just found a time capsule.”

He crouched beside her, his shadow falling across the open box. His brows knit slightly as he took one of the envelopes, turning it in his hand with care. “These… they’re old. At least seventy years, maybe more.”

“They were buried under the olive tree,” Y/N said softly. “You think they’re hers?”

He looked up, meeting her gaze. “Your grandmother’s?”

She nodded.

Theo’s expression softened. “Maybe. Or someone close to her.” He unfolded one of the letters, his voice low as he read the faded Italian aloud — smooth and slow, every word carrying weight.

“To my heart,

I write from the shadows of this house, where every sound reminds me of you. They say I must forget, but how can I, when even the air carries your name?”

He stopped, eyes lifting to hers.

Y/N felt the air shift — something tender and quiet settling between them. “It sounds like…”

“Love letters,” he finished for her, voice barely above a whisper.

Theo glanced back down at the page, his thumb brushing over the ink. “The signature’s smudged, but… whoever wrote these, they weren’t meant to be found.”

Y/N looked at the box again, the edges of the letters trembling slightly in the breeze. “Then why hide them here?”

Theo smiled faintly. “Maybe to keep them safe. Some secrets need roots, not walls.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sunlight filtered through the branches above, dappling the letters in gold.

Finally, Y/N gathered the bundle and stood. “Will you help me translate them?”

Theo looked up at her, eyes thoughtful — soft, like he’d been waiting for her to ask.

“Of course,” he said. “But be careful what you wish for, Y/N. Old stories have a way of changing the present.”

She smiled faintly. “I think I can handle a few love letters.”

He gave a quiet laugh, standing to join her. “We’ll see about that.”

As they walked back toward the villa, the box clutched carefully between them, the olive tree swayed gently behind — its silver leaves whispering secrets only the past could hear.

By the time the sun had climbed high above the hills, the villa’s kitchen was alive with the scent of coffee and dusted sunlight. Y/N had spread the letters across the long wooden table — careful, reverent, as though each page might crumble if she breathed too hard.

Theo leaned over one of them, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, his curls falling forward as he traced the faded ink with his fingertip. His voice was low when he spoke.

“Some of these are dated 1951. Others a few years later. It’s… strange. They’re written like a diary — but addressed to someone.”

Y/N tilted her head, brushing the corner of one letter. “Someone she loved.”

He glanced up, meeting her eyes. “Seems that way.”

For a long moment, they just looked at each other — sunlight catching the dust between them, a quiet warmth humming in the air.

Finally, Theo cleared his throat and began translating, his accent soft and deliberate.

“My dearest,

Today the olive trees bloomed early. I stood beneath them and thought of your hands — how they trembled when you said we must not see each other again. But how can I stop, when every corner of this villa still breathes you?”

He paused, glancing up. “Your grandmother wrote beautifully.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “How do you know it’s her? It could’ve been someone else.”

He hesitated. “Maybe. But look—”

He turned the paper slightly toward her, pointing at the edge of the page. There, in faint, fading ink, was a signature. Not quite legible, but the first letter clear enough — E.

Y/N felt a flutter in her chest. “Elena. Her name was Elena.”

Theo nodded slowly. “Then she wasn’t writing to your grandfather.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than the air. Outside, the cicadas buzzed lazily, as if the world hadn’t just shifted.

Y/N sank into the chair opposite him, the letter trembling slightly in her hand. “My mother used to say Nonna had secrets. That she fell in love before she married my grandfather, but it ended badly.”

Theo leaned back against the table, his gaze steady. “Seems it ended deeply, not badly.”

She smiled faintly at that — a soft, sad curve of her lips. “There’s a difference, isn’t there?”

He studied her for a moment. “You tell me.”

Her eyes met his, and the question hung there — something quiet, something almost dangerous.

Y/N looked back down at the page, heart beating faster than she wanted to admit. “So… who was he? The man she wrote to?”

Theo tapped the corner of another letter. “This one mentions a name. ‘T.N.’”

Her head snapped up. “T.N.?”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “I swear I didn’t plant that.”

Y/N laughed softly despite herself, the tension in her chest easing just a little. “Maybe you’re his ghost, here to finish what he started.”

Theo’s eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Or maybe I’m here to help you understand it.”

For a while, they kept reading — his voice low and rhythmic, hers filling the silences between translations. And though the letters spoke of another love, another lifetime, the air between them began to hum with something new — something fragile and unspoken, like the first note of a song neither wanted to end.

When they finally stopped, the sun was setting outside, bathing the villa in molten gold.

Y/N looked at the letters spread before them, then at Theo.

“What if there’s more?” she whispered.

“There will be,” he said softly, his gaze steady on hers. “Secrets like these never stay buried for long.”

And under the olive tree, just beyond the open window, the breeze stirred — carrying the faint scent of rosemary and memory.

The afternoon sun spilled through the shutters in dappled bands, warm light pooling across the old writing desk. The air smelled faintly of rosemary and paper dust — the scent of things that had been waiting to be remembered.

Y/N brushed her fingers along the edge of a stack of envelopes, the old wax seals flaking beneath her touch. “I still can’t believe she hid all these,” she murmured.

Theo leaned against the frame of the open door, sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching her with that quiet attentiveness that had become familiar. “People only hide what matters most,” he said softly.

Something metallic glinted beneath a stack of loose papers — a flash of dull silver catching the light. Y/N frowned and reached for it, tugging gently until it came free.

It was small, dented, and cool in her palm. A mint container — the kind travelers used decades ago, its edges worn smooth by time. The faded label read Alto Menta, the letters almost rubbed away.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding it up.

Theo crossed the room, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Looks ancient. Careful—those old tins can be fragile.”

Y/N pried it open with a quiet click. Inside, folded with careful precision, was a scrap of aged paper — and behind it, something stiffer. She drew out a photograph, its corners curled and sepia with age.

The air seemed to still around them.

The picture showed a young woman standing beneath the same olive tree that grew outside the villa, sunlight tangled in her hair. Her smile was soft — familiar.

“Elena,” Y/N breathed. “That’s my grandmother.”

Beside her, a man stood — tall, dark-haired, eyes bright with something halfway between joy and danger. His hand rested gently at the small of her back, the touch barely there but intimate enough to make Y/N’s breath catch.

Theo stared at the photo, silent. His gaze lingered on the man’s face, tracing the shape of his jaw, the tilt of his mouth. For a heartbeat, Y/N thought he’d gone pale.

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

He swallowed, eyes flicking up to hers. “I’ve seen him before,” he said, voice low. “That’s… that’s my grandfather.”

Y/N froze. “Your—”

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “Tommaso Nott.”

The name settled between them like a gust of wind — stirring dust, shifting everything.

Y/N looked back at the photograph, her pulse racing. Her grandmother and his grandfather — together, beneath the olive tree. A secret preserved in a tin of mints, waiting decades to be discovered by the only two people who could understand what it meant.

For a moment, neither spoke. The villa seemed to hum softly around them, the echoes of past and present overlapping in perfect symmetry.

Theo exhaled slowly, gaze still on the photo. “Looks like history has a way of finding its way home,” he said quietly.

Y/N met his eyes, the weight of the revelation settling in her chest — heavy, but oddly right. “Or maybe it never really left.”

Outside, the olive branches swayed, whispering the names of those who had once stood beneath them — Elena and Tommaso.

And now, Y/N and Theodore.

Morning came softly to the villa. Pale light poured through the lace curtains, scattering across the tiled floor and the open letters spread over the table from the night before.

Y/N hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that photograph — her grandmother’s laugh, the olive tree’s shadow, and the man beside her whose gaze looked so much like Theo’s.

Tommaso Nott.

She traced her fingertip over the photograph again, still unable to believe it. Her grandmother, Elena, and his grandfather — two names bound together by something forbidden and fierce, hidden for nearly seventy years.

A quiet sound came from behind her — the soft scrape of bare feet on tile.

Theo appeared in the doorway, hair mussed, a faint shadow under his eyes. He was holding a mug of coffee and a small bundle of old documents he must’ve found that morning.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked gently.

He shook his head. “Not really. My brain doesn’t know what to do with any of this.”

Y/N smiled faintly, though her heart still raced. “You mean the fact that our grandparents were…?”

He gave a short, breathless laugh. “In love? Apparently.” He leaned against the table beside her, setting the papers down. “Tommaso Nott. I grew up hearing the name like it belonged to a stranger — some quiet man who kept to himself after my father was born. I never knew there was this part of his life.”

She studied his face, noticing how gentle his expression had become. “Do you think your family knew?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. My father barely remembers him. But this—” he nodded to the photo “—this explains a lot. The way he used to disappear to Italy every summer. The letters in Italian my grandmother found after he died.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “He kept her with him his whole life.”

Theo’s voice was low. “Seems that way.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of cicadas drifting in through the open windows.

“It’s strange,” Y/N said finally. “I feel like we’ve walked straight into their story.”

Theo’s eyes flicked to hers. “Maybe we were meant to find it.”

Her pulse fluttered. “You think so?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But it feels like… some stories echo until someone listens.”

The words lingered between them — unspoken, heavy, magnetic.

Outside, the olive tree swayed, its leaves catching the early light. Y/N felt drawn to it, to the place where the photo had been taken, to the history that had waited so long to be uncovered.

“Come on,” Theo said softly. “There’s something I want to show you.”

He led her outside into the soft Tuscan morning, the air cool and golden. Beneath the olive tree, the earth was scattered with fallen leaves — and there, half-buried in the soil near the roots, something glinted.

A corner of a rusted tin box.

Theo crouched and brushed away the dirt, revealing another hidden cache — older, heavier. He looked up at her, eyes alive with something that felt like awe.

“Seems your grandmother wasn’t the only one who hid things,” he murmured.

Y/N knelt beside him, her heart thudding as the lid creaked open. Inside lay a handful of letters — sealed in wax, untouched by time.

The top one was addressed in a careful, familiar hand:

To the one who finds what I could not finish.

Y/N looked up at Theo, her breath catching.

“Tommaso,” he whispered.

The sun was already warm when they carried the tin box to the old stone bench beneath the olive tree. Cicadas sang lazily in the distance, and the breeze carried the faint scent of lavender and dry earth.

Theo turned the tin over in his hands, reverent, like he was afraid it might crumble. The wax on the top letter had cracked, but the seal still bore the faint imprint of a family crest — one Y/N recognized now as Nott.

“Are you sure you want to open it?” she asked softly.

He met her eyes, the faintest hint of a smile touching his mouth. “He left it for someone to find. And… I think he meant for it to be found by us.”

Y/N nodded, her heart tight, and watched as Theo broke the seal. The paper crackled faintly when he unfolded it. The handwriting was elegant, deliberate — the same one from the letters they’d found before, only more careful, as if the weight of every word mattered.

Theo’s voice was quiet when he began to read.

My dearest,

If you are reading this, then time has done what I could not — finish what we began. I have loved you across oceans and decades, and though I leave this world without your hand in mine, know that no distance, no duty, no fear could unmake what we were.

They told us love was a reckless thing. Perhaps it was. But if loving you was my greatest mistake, then let history remember me fondly as a man of many beautiful errors.

I built this villa for the summer we never had. I thought that if I left something behind — stone, olive, and sky — perhaps it might keep us alive a little longer. Perhaps one day, someone would come and see what love once looked like, and understand.

Yours, always,

Tommaso Nott

Theo stopped reading. His voice had gone rough at the edges, and Y/N realized he was gripping the paper too tightly.

“He built this place for her,” she whispered. “The villa.”

Theo nodded, eyes fixed on the letter. “It wasn’t just a holiday home. It was… a monument.”

They sat in silence, the enormity of it pressing between them — that every stone they’d walked across, every olive leaf brushing their shoulders, had been shaped by a love story the world had forgotten.

Y/N leaned forward, fingers brushing over Tommaso’s signature. “He wanted them to be found. The letters. The photo. All of it.”

“Maybe he knew someone would come back,” Theo said softly. “Someone who’d need to understand why.”

Their eyes met then — a quiet, knowing glance that neither could quite look away from.

Y/N smiled faintly. “So… do we finish what they couldn’t?”

Theo’s lips curved, almost wistful. “Maybe that’s what we’re here for.”

A breeze swept through the olive branches above them, carrying the scent of earth and memory. The light dappled across Theo’s face, and for a moment, Y/N could almost see it — Elena’s laughter, Tommaso’s smile, the past folding into the present in one quiet breath.

To the one who finds what I could not finish.

And in that moment, Y/N realized — maybe they already had.

The afternoon sun had softened to a gentle gold when they went back inside. The villa seemed quieter now — as though the walls themselves had exhaled, relieved that their secrets were finally being heard.

Theo had placed Tommaso’s letter carefully back in its tin box, setting it on the desk beside the photo of their grandparents. Neither of them spoke for a while; there was too much to process, and silence felt kinder than words.

Y/N moved toward the bookshelves, her fingers brushing over spines that had gathered a lifetime of dust. Most were in Italian — poetry, architecture, philosophy. One stood out: La Vita Nuova, Dante’s early writings on love and loss.

When she pulled it free, something fluttered loose from between the pages. A folded piece of yellowed paper.

“Theo,” she whispered.

He turned immediately, his expression alert but gentle. She handed it to him, and for a moment neither of them breathed. The handwriting on the outside was delicate and unmistakably Elena’s.

Per T.

Y/N unfolded it with careful hands. The ink had faded, but the words were still clear — heartbreakingly so.

Theo sat beside her as she began to read aloud.

My dearest Tommaso,

I could not send this. The world would not let me, and perhaps you would not wish to see the woman I have become. But I cannot leave this life without writing what remains of my heart.

I loved you. I never stopped. Even when the seasons changed, when duty demanded my silence, my love lived quietly in the corners of this villa — in every olive leaf, in every ray of sunlight that touched these walls. They all belonged to you.

If our love must live in whispers and shadows, then let it echo through our children’s laughter, through the generations that follow. Perhaps one day, they will find this place, and in doing so, find us.

Forgive me for leaving. Forgive me for staying. Both were acts of love.

—E.

The silence that followed was soft and unbearable.

Y/N stared at the page, her throat tight, her eyes burning. “She hoped someone would find it,” she said quietly. “She wanted to be remembered.”

Theo’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And she wanted us to find each other.”

Y/N looked up. His gaze was steady, warm, and full of something that felt too big to name.

For the first time, it didn’t feel like coincidence that she’d inherited the villa — or that he’d been sent to restore it. Every moment since their arrival suddenly felt orchestrated by the two people who’d loved too deeply to ever be forgotten.

Theo reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s like they left us a story to finish,” he said.

Y/N managed a trembling smile. “Then maybe it’s time we wrote the ending.”

Outside, the evening light poured over the olive fields, painting everything in gold. The branches swayed as if in agreement, whispering names the wind still remembered — Elena and Tommaso. Y/N and Theodore.

Four souls, two generations apart, finally at peace.

A year later, Tuscany was golden again.

The villa was alive again.

Sunlight streamed through new glass, catching on the polished stone floors and restored frescoes. The scent of rosemary and lemon drifted from the kitchen, and laughter floated from the terrace where locals and family mingled — a soft hum of life echoing through the home that had slept too long.

Y/N stood by the open window, the view spilling wide and endless before her — olive groves rolling down to the distant hills, just as they had in the photo. Her grandmother’s villa was whole again, and somehow, so was the story it held.

Behind her, footsteps approached — slow, unhurried.

Theo stopped beside her, his shirt sleeves rolled, a trace of sawdust still on his forearm from the last bit of restoration that morning. He handed her a glass of wine, their fingers brushing lightly.

“You did it,” he said quietly.

Y/N smiled. “We did.”

He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the photo of Elena and Tommaso now framed and set on the mantel. “Feels like they’re here,” he murmured.

“They are,” she said softly. “Everywhere.”

They watched the evening settle — the sky bleeding into a soft amber glow. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Theo turned to her, something flickering in his eyes — that same mix of shyness and determination she’d seen the first day they met. “There’s something I want to show you,” he said, his voice lower now.

He led her through the garden, down the worn stone path to the olive tree — the same tree where everything had begun.

The branches shimmered in the last of the light. And beneath it, newly placed in the soil, stood a small marble plaque, simple but beautiful.

Y/N knelt down, reading the words carved carefully into the stone.

Per chi ama e ricorda.

‘For those who love and remember’

Below it were two names, side by side:

Elena Rossi & Tommaso Nott.

Y/N’s breath caught.

“You did this?” she whispered.

Theo nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly a little self-conscious. “They deserved to be together here. For real this time.”

Her throat tightened. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled softly. “It’s not just for them.”

Her eyes lifted to his — searching, hopeful.

He took a small step closer, the golden light threading through the olive leaves above them. “They never got their ending,” he said quietly. “But maybe we can have ours.”

The world seemed to still then — the cicadas, the wind, the light — as he reached for her hand.

Y/N felt the warmth of his palm, the calm certainty in his touch, and somehow knew that everything — every letter, every discovery — had led here.

Theo smiled faintly, voice barely above a whisper. “History has a funny way of repeating itself.”

Y/N’s lips curved. “Then maybe this time, it gets to end happily.”

The wind stirred through the olive tree, carrying their laughter out across the Tuscan hills — a sound soft and certain, full of love that had waited a lifetime to bloom again.

And somewhere, in the quiet rustle of leaves, it felt like the villa itself was finally at peace.

The olive groves shimmered under the late-September sun, baskets lined the terraces, and laughter spilled through the open windows of the villa — Elena’s villa.

Now, it was alive with people. Y/N’s family had flown in for the harvest festival, their voices mixing with the warmth of local farmers and friends. Children ran through the garden with wreaths of olive branches on their heads, the air full of music and something sweeter — belonging.

From the terrace, Y/N watched the scene unfold with a smile that came easily these days. The villa was no longer just a restoration project. It was home.

Behind her, familiar arms slipped around her waist, the scent of cedar and sun-warmed linen brushing her skin.

“Still can’t believe it’s been a year,” Theo murmured against her shoulder.

“Feels like it’s been longer,” she said, leaning back into him. “And also… no time at all.”

He chuckled quietly, his breath warm against her neck. “That’s Tuscany for you. It bends time.”

Y/N turned in his arms to face him, eyes soft. “You did that plaque justice, you know.”

Theo smiled — that small, quiet smile she’d fallen for. “They deserved to be remembered properly.”

“And now everyone who comes here will know their story,” she said, glancing toward the olive tree where the plaque gleamed faintly in the sunlight. “Elena Rossi and Tommaso Nott.”

Theo’s gaze followed hers. “And maybe they’ll tell ours someday.”

The words hung between them, light but sure.

A soft breeze rolled through the hills, carrying the scent of crushed olives and wine. Someone had started music near the vines, the kind that made even the air sway.

Theo extended his hand. “Dance with me?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “There’s no music.”

He grinned. “There’s always music here.”

She took his hand, and he spun her beneath the fading sky, both of them laughing as the villa glowed behind them — all stone and history and light.

For a moment, it felt like time folded — like Elena and Tommaso were there too, smiling through the branches.

When they finally stopped, breathless, Y/N looked up at him, her heart full. “We finished it,” she said softly.

Theo brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “No,” he said. “We just finally began.”

The bells from the village echoed faintly across the hills. The olive tree swayed, the harvest went on, and the villa — their villa — stood strong beneath the Tuscan sun.

The castle was alive with chaos. Shouts echoed down corridors, green light flashed against stone walls, and the acrid scent of smoke burned your lungs. You clutched your wand tighter than ever, your heart hammering—not just from fear, but from the knowledge that Theo was somewhere near, and every second apart felt like a lifetime.

Theo appeared suddenly at your side, his expression grim, jaw tight, eyes blazing. “Stay close,” he commanded, voice low and dangerous. “We can’t afford to get separated.”

You nodded, matching his pace, moving through the shadows like a single unit. Every brush of his hand against yours, every accidental contact sent shivers down your spine, mixing adrenaline with the fire that had been smoldering between you for months.

Ahead, Evan Rosier stood blocking your path, wand raised, smirk cruel and sharp. “I was wondering when you’d show up, Nott,” he drawled. “And you—” He glanced at you, eyes lingering far too long. “—I see you’ve been busy. Playing house while your little hero fights for you.”

Theo stepped in front of you, wand pointed with deadly precision. “Step aside,” he said, voice ice and steel. “Now.”

Evan’s smirk widened. “Or what?”

Theo’s eyes blazed, a storm you had never fully seen until now. “Or I’ll make you regret ever crossing me.”

The duel began in a flash of green light and silver sparks. Spells flew, echoing through the corridor. You moved instinctively, dodging curses, countering when you could, but mostly trying to stay close to Theo. Every glance at him stole your breath—his determination, his fury, his desperate need to protect you.

Then Evan fired a curse too fast to dodge. Theo twisted, taking the hit in the arm instead of you. You gasped, rushing to his side. “Theo!”

He looked at you, jaw tight, teeth clenched, then forced a small, grim smile. “I’m fine. Keep moving.”

“No!” you snapped, grabbing his hand. “We fight together! Don’t ever think I’ll let you do this alone!”

He hesitated, then nodded, eyes softening just enough for you to see the raw truth beneath the storm: he needed you. He had always needed you.

Together, you faced Evan, your wands moving in sync, instinct and trust flowing between you. He faltered for the first time, surprise flickering in his eyes as you and Theo’s combined magic struck him, forcing him to retreat into the shadows with a mocking hiss.

The adrenaline didn’t fade. Neither did the heat between you. Theo grabbed your face suddenly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t—” he whispered, voice ragged. “I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek, voice trembling. “You won’t. We’re in this together, Theo. Always.”

He kissed you passionately, not the brief, desperate touches of before—but a kiss that spoke of trust, fire, and something fierce enough to withstand the world.

But the moment lingered, charged with the echoes of what had passed. The corridors were finally still —Evan Rosier and his allies had been defeated, their threat finally ended.

Theo’s fingers tightened around yours, not from fear, but from relief and something deeper, something unspoken. “We did it,” he whispered, voice low, eyes locking with yours. “It’s over. All of it.”

You swallowed hard, chest still pounding, heart racing with adrenaline and the heat of being near him. And for the first time, you knew that no matter what came next—peaceful days, laughter, life together—you would face it together: hearts tangled, fire blazing, and unafraid.

⸻

The castle was quiet now, sunlight streaming through the broken windows, painting the stone walls with gold. The battle was over. The corridors still bore the scars of the war—the shattered windows, the scorched walls, the echoes of spells long spent—but the danger had passed.

You stood in the great hall, hands clasped in Theo’s, his thumb brushing over yours in that way that made your chest feel lighter than it had in years.

“You did it,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

He grinned, that crooked, infuriating grin that had stolen your heart from the start. “We did it. Together. You and me.”

It was strange and wonderful to say it out loud. To know it was real. You had survived, you had loved, and the darkness that had haunted you both was finally behind you.

Theo pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours. “I never want to be apart from you again,” he murmured.

“I don’t think we ever will be,” you said softly, fingers threading through his.

The castle outside had begun to stir with life again—students returning, repairs starting, laughter cautiously creeping back into the air. But in this quiet moment, the world felt like it was just the two of you.

⸻

Years passed, and the love that had begun in shadows and secrets blossomed fully in sunlight. Theo and you married in a small ceremony in the rebuilt gardens, surrounded by friends who had survived alongside you. The laughter of children drifted in from nearby, and one day, the two of you would have your own little ones who would inherit your stubborn streaks, your bravery, and the love that had carried you through the darkest days.

You rested your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, and smiled.

“No more secrets,” you said.

“No more danger,” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, peace settled around you.

You had fought. You had survived. And you had found each other.

Forever.

Author’s Note

Thank you so much for following along on this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed the series as much as I did!

The Slytherin dungeons were cold and dark, shadows pooling around you as you stormed down the stone corridors, wand in hand. You didn’t look back, but you knew Theo was following, his footsteps quiet but steady, a shadow glued to yours.

“I can’t do this anymore!” you finally shouted, stopping abruptly. Your wand trembled in your grip—not from fear of danger, but from the storm raging inside you. “I can’t pretend that I trust you! I can’t pretend that your secrets don’t scare me half to death!”

Theo stopped as well, only a few steps behind. His eyes were stormy, jaw tight, and yet there was a raw, desperate vulnerability there you’d never seen before. “(Y/N)… I—”

“No! Don’t!” you interrupted, voice cracking. “I overheard everything. Evan, the raids… you’re part of this mess! And you kissed me! You knew I didn’t know what was real anymore! You—”

“You think I wanted this?” Theo’s voice was low, almost a growl, the tension in his shoulders like steel. “Do you think I wanted to lie to you? Do you think I wanted to get you involved in this nightmare?”

“Yes!” you shot back, tears stinging your eyes. “Yes, I do! Because every time I look at you, I want to hate you, and I can’t. Every time you touch me, I—”

He cut you off, stepping so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Stop. Stop saying that.”

“What? Stop saying what?”

“Stop… pretending you can control how you feel around me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, dangerous and soft at the same time. “Because I can’t control it either. I can’t stop myself from wanting you, from needing you, even if it’s going to get you hurt—or me.”

Your chest burned, your heart thundering like a war drum. You wanted to throw yourself at him, to kiss him, to give in to the pull between you.

And then you did the only thing you could think of.

You pushed him away. Hard.

“I can’t do this,” you said, voice trembling. “I won’t let you put me in danger. Not for you, not for anyone. I can’t.”

Theo staggered back, eyes wide, almost breaking. His lips parted, as if to argue, to beg, but no sound came out. His hand hung in the air for a moment, reaching for you, before dropping to his side like a broken shield.

“(Y/N)… don’t,” he whispered, voice thick with pain. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“I have to,” you said, voice hollow, backing into the shadows of the dungeon. “I have to protect myself. I can’t… not from this.”

He didn’t follow. He just watched, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes haunted, as you disappeared into the dark corridors.

And in that moment, both of you knew the truth:

The war outside wasn’t the only thing that threatened to destroy you.

Your hearts—and the fire burning between you—were just as dangerous.

⸻

The castle was quiet, too quiet. Even the faintest echo of your footsteps sounded like a warning. You weren’t sure whether you were following Theo or letting him follow you—neither of you spoke, both of you aware of the danger lingering just beyond the shadows.

Finally, he stopped, dragging you into a hidden alcove beneath the stone arches of an unused corridor. The flicker of torches cast his face in half-shadow, jaw tight, eyes stormy and impossibly close.

“I should hate you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “but I don’t. I can’t. And now—after everything…”

He stepped closer, closing the small distance between you. “(Y/N)… I never wanted this. Never wanted to drag you into any of it. But I can’t stand seeing you… not knowing. Not in danger.”

You swallowed hard, heart hammering. “Then tell me. Tell me everything. I deserve that much. I need to know you—the real you, not the secrets, not the lies.”

His gaze softened for the briefest second, and then darkened again. “I’m part of it, (Y/N). My family… my connections… I can’t escape it. I tried to shield you, but the moment I kissed you…” His voice faltered, raw and low. “I knew I was risking everything. But I couldn’t help it. I can’t help it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment the world shrank until it was only you and him, the danger outside irrelevant, the tension between you unbearable. You stepped closer, daring, trembling. “Then let me in. Let me share it with you. Let me fight with you—if it’s going to kill us, let’s face it together.”

Theo’s hands hovered over yours for a heartbeat, uncertain, shaking slightly. Then, impossibly, he pulled you into him, wrapping you in a fierce, desperate embrace. “I… I can’t promise safety,” he whispered, voice rough against your ear, “but I can promise I won’t let anything happen to you that I can stop.”

The words hit you like fire. The confession, the raw honesty, the vulnerability—it was everything you’d been craving, and yet more dangerous than anything outside the castle walls.

Your hands found his face, tracing the lines you knew too well, memorizing the storm in his eyes. “Theo…”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t cautious. It was desperate, urgent, and full of every stolen glance, every tension-filled moment, every longing you’d both tried to deny. You clung to him as if letting go would mean losing not just the kiss, but the fragile thread of trust you’d been building through all the lies and danger.

When the moment broke, neither of you moved, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling. “We… we can’t,” he murmured, voice rough. “Not yet. The war… it’s coming. But… I can’t stop myself from needing you.”

You pressed your hand over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “Then we fight it. Together.”

And as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a shadow flickered across the corridor.

Evan Rosier.

He had been watching.

The shadowy figure advanced, wand raised, and Theo didn’t hesitate. His hand grabbed yours, pulling you into a sprint before you could think.

“Where—?” you gasped, but he cut you off with a sharp look.

“No time to explain!”

Corridors blurred past as you stumbled to keep up. His grip was firm, unrelenting, and for a terrifying, thrilling moment, you realized how little distance there really was between you—how much he needed you in ways you had never allowed yourself to admit.

A flash of green light struck the stone wall just behind you. Theo’s wand whipped out instinctively, deflecting the curse. “Duck!” he barked.

You hit the floor, breathless, your hair brushing against the cold stone. Another curse smashed the ground where you had been standing, sending sparks into the air. Theo’s face was pale, jaw tight, eyes blazing with a mix of fear and fury.

“Why are you here?” you demanded, scrambling to your feet.

“Because it’s not just me they’re after!” Theo snapped, his voice low and urgent. “It’s you! And I won’t let them take you!”

Your chest thundered, not from fear, but from the intensity in his gaze. Every word, every movement, every quick brush of his hand against yours—it was electric. It made your blood burn, even as your mind screamed danger.

Another green light slammed into the wall ahead of you. Theo twisted mid-step, pushing you behind him like a shield.

“I told you,” he growled, “this is going to get us both killed!”

You froze, staring up at him. “Then why… why do you keep coming back?”

His eyes darkened, stormy, and for one split second, the world narrowed to just the two of you. “Because I can’t leave you,” he admitted, voice low, almost a growl. “Even if it destroys me.”

The words hit harder than any curse ever could. And then—before you could respond—a third curse streaked past, sending both of you skidding across the floor.

You tumbled into him, chest pressed against his, and for a breathless heartbeat, nothing else existed. Not the danger. Not the chaos. Just Theo. Just the heat of him, the tension, the unspoken promise in his gaze.

And then reality crashed back.

“Move!” he shouted, yanking you upright. “We have to get out!”

You ran again, hearts pounding in unison, breaths ragged. Every glance at him stole your focus, every brush of his hand sent fire crawling through your veins, and yet, somewhere deep inside, you knew—this is what you wanted. This is what you feared.

Outside the library, the shadows were shifting. The castle itself seemed alive with menace. And you realized the fight wasn’t just with wands or curses—it was with every unspoken word, every hidden feeling, every truth you’d been too afraid to admit.

Theo glanced at you, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll make it… together.”

And in that moment, you almost believed him.

Almost.

⸻

The castle was quieter than usual, the corridors shadowed and cold. Even in the relative calm, your nerves buzzed with tension. Every flicker of movement made you spin, wand raised, heart hammering.

Theo moved beside you like a predator and a protector all at once. His hand brushed yours more than once, accidental or deliberate, you couldn’t tell, but each time it made heat crawl up your spine. He didn’t speak, but his eyes—icy, stormy, unreadable—kept darting to yours, as if daring you to challenge him.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” you muttered, voice low.

Theo smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You said the same thing last time. And the time before that. You get used to it.”

“I do not get used to being nearly killed every week,” you shot back, shoving past him in the narrow hallway.

He caught your arm before you could go any further, spinning you toward him with a sudden force that made your heart stutter. “Careful,” he warned, voice low, almost a growl. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Your breath caught, throat dry. You opened your mouth to retort, to tell him he had no right, when a flicker of movement in the shadows made you both freeze.

Evan Rosier.

He stepped out of the darkness, wand in hand, smirk curling over his face. “Well, if it isn’t Nott and his little… friend. What are you two doing, sneaking around like lovers in a fairy tale?”

Theo stepped in front of you immediately, protective, rigid, eyes flashing with a warning. “Back off, Rosier. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Everything concerns me,” Evan said smoothly, and you felt the chill of danger brush your skin like ice. “Especially her.”

Theo’s hand brushed yours again—not intentionally hidden this time. You felt the electricity in the contact, your stomach twisting as anger and desire tangled together. “You’re not touching her,” Theo said, low and dangerous, his wand already raised.

Evan laughed, sharp and cruel. “Oh, I don’t need to touch her to get what I want. You should know that by now, Nott.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, the tension radiating from him like heat. “Leave. Now.”

You could see the storm in his eyes—the same storm that had pulled you into him so many times, the same one that made you ache with frustration and longing. Without thinking, you stepped closer to him, as if your presence could anchor him in the chaos.

Evan’s smirk faltered. “Careful, Nott,” he warned. “You get too close, you might lose her… for good.”

Theo’s hand closed over yours, fingers brushing yours firmly, possessively. The contact set your blood on fire, but before you could say anything, Evan fired a spell. Theo deflected it instinctively, pushing you behind him.

Your heart hammered—not just from the danger, but from the way Theo’s protective stance, his close proximity, made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t name.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, breathless, but Theo only shot you a glance that made your knees weak. “Stay behind me,” he said, voice rough, his stormy eyes holding yours for a moment too long.

The moment shattered when Evan retreated, disappearing into the shadows with a cruel chuckle, leaving you both trembling, hearts pounding, and a tension between you that had nothing to do with the fight.

Theo let go of your hand slowly, reluctantly, and for a heartbeat you felt the loss as if a part of you had been ripped away. “We need to… be careful,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your fingers brushing against his still, lingering like a promise and a warning all at once. And deep down, you knew this night had changed everything—not just the danger outside, but the fire simmering between the two of you.

Theodore Nott x Reader

Mentions of sex, losing virginity, fighting

(Y/N’s POV)

The Hogwarts Express had been a blur — faces I didn’t know, luggage that felt heavier than my nerves, whispers following me everywhere. I’d never felt more out of place.

And now, standing in the Sorting Hat’s chamber, I could feel it. The hat slid onto my head, heavy and warm, its voice whispering inside my mind.

Ambitious… clever… daring…

Do you belong in Slytherin?

I hesitated. Maybe… yes.

Bold, resourceful… You could go far here.

“SLYTHERIN!”

The cheer of green-and-silver erupted around me as I slid off the stool. Heart hammering, I looked toward the long table. That’s when I saw them — a small group of girls, sitting together, whispering and giggling. One of them leaned toward me, green eyes glinting with mischief.

“You new?” she asked.

“Yes… Y/N Carrow” I murmured, smiling nervously.

“I’m Pansy Parkinson,” she said. “Come on, let me introduce you.”

Before I knew it, I was swept into their little circle — Pansy, Daphne, and Astoria. I laughed more than I had in months. For the first time, maybe I could belong here.

⸻

(Dinner — Slytherin table)

Dinner was lively — laughter echoing, silver plates clanging, students teasing each other as they tucked into their food. I sat beside Pansy, who was animatedly recounting some joke from earlier in the day.

From the other side of the table, a pair of sharp, calculating eyes watched me. Dark hair, blue eyes, and a grin that made my stomach twist — Theodore Nott. He leaned back, clearly amused by the chaos around him.

And then there was Mattheo Riddle, taller, dark-haired with an air of wicked mischief that made everyone a little uncomfortable. He leaned toward Theo, voice low, just loud enough for the surrounding table to hear:

“Who doesn’t love a challenge?” Mattheo whispered, lips curling into that wicked grin. “I bet the new girl won’t be able to resist you.”

Theo’s blue eyes sparkled as he laughed softly. “You’re on, mate,” he murmured, voice teasing. “This should be… interesting.”

I had no idea what they were plotting. To me, it just looked like casual conversation, playful banter. Pansy glanced at me from the corner of her eye, frowning slightly but saying nothing.

I smiled nervously, oblivious to the fact that the two boys across from me had already made me the center of a game I didn’t even know existed.

⸻

(After Dinner — Common Room)

Pansy sat beside me, handing me a cup of hot chocolate. “Ignore them,” she said, eyes sharp, protective. “Mattheo is trouble, and Theo… well, he’s not much better. Just… don’t let them drag you in.”

I nodded, sipping the chocolate, feeling warm for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts.

Little did I know, belonging here would come with challenges — and heartbreaks — I could never have imagined.

(Y/N’s POV)

Hogwarts was everything I imagined and nothing I expected. The castle smelled of old stone and firewood, corridors echoed with footsteps, and whispers seemed to follow me everywhere. But nothing made my stomach twist like the boy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes — Theo Nott.

He was everywhere I didn’t expect — a fleeting glance in the hallway, leaning casually against the classroom door, appearing in the common room when I least wanted to see him. But he never pushed. Never forced conversation. Just… observed. Patient. Persistent. Dangerous in the way he made my heart race without even touching me.

And I hated it.

“Good morning,” he said lightly one day in the Slytherin common room.

“Morning,” I replied, voice clipped.

“New girl,” he continued, casual, voice teasing just enough to make me uneasy. “Adjusting well?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine, thank you. Really.”

He smiled, blue eyes flicking toward Mattheo Riddle, who was lounging in the corner, smirking wickedly. I stiffened. Theo’s glance was fleeting, but there was something unreadable in it — a promise, maybe, or a warning.

“I’m not interested in conversation beyond necessity,” I said firmly, standing to leave.

Theo’s smile never wavered. “Noted.”

Mattheo’s grin widened. That familiar, dangerous spark in his eyes. “Interesting,” he murmured under his breath. “The boy’s persistent… and she’s stubborn. This could be… fun.”

⸻

(Later — Slytherin Table, Dinner)

Dinner was lively, clattering plates and chatter filling the hall. Mattheo leaned close to Theo, voice low and wicked.

“I have an idea to make this more… interesting,” he said.

Theo arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”

Mattheo smirked, dark and calculating. “If you can win her heart… and take her virginity, I’ll pay you fifty galleons.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then Theo laughed, low and mischievous, a grin spreading across his face. “So on, mate.”

I happened to look over just then. Blue eyes flicked to mine, unreadable, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I didn’t know the bet existed — just that Theo’s smile had changed something, and I hated the way it made me feel.

⸻

(Weeks Later — Time Jump)

Days blurred into weeks. Slowly, carefully, the walls around me began to crack.

Theo was everywhere and nowhere — a message tucked into my book, a glance in the hall, subtle acts of kindness. He was still teasing, still mysterious, but I couldn’t deny the way he made me laugh or the way my chest warmed when he appeared unexpectedly.

I started to talk to him without thinking, leaning into his presence without realizing how much I enjoyed it.

One afternoon, as we sat near the lake, laughing over some shared joke, I caught myself thinking, maybe he’s not so bad after all.

Little did I know, he had been playing a dangerous game all along — a game I had no idea I was part of.

(Y/N’s POV)

I didn’t realize how much I had been holding back until Theo started slipping past the walls I’d built around myself.

It began subtly. A glance that lingered too long, a touch that brushed against my hand when he handed me a potion ingredient, the way he laughed at things no one else found funny. At first, I resisted. I reminded myself he was just… playful, teasing, impossible to read. But slowly, I let him in.

⸻

(Slytherin Common Room — Afternoon)

He caught me studying alone, frowning over a particularly tricky spell. Without a word, he sat down across from me, setting his books beside mine.

“Need help?” he asked softly, blue eyes sharp but gentle.

“I… I think I’ve got it,” I muttered, keeping my voice steady.

He leaned closer anyway, lowering his voice. “It’s okay. I don’t mind helping.”

I looked up at him and something in his gaze made me pause. There was no teasing this time. No playful smirk. Just… attention. Full, undivided, and it made my chest tighten.

And when he began telling me things — things he’d never shared with anyone — I felt my walls cracking.

“My father…” he started quietly one evening as we walked along the quiet halls. “He… he was never really proud of me. I’ve always felt like I had to prove I was good enough, smart enough… even to people who mattered.”

I blinked, heart aching in a way I didn’t understand. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Most people don’t,” he admitted. “I’m… good at hiding it. But you…” His eyes softened. “You make it feel… different. Like I can be honest. Like I can… trust someone.”

I swallowed, warmth flooding my chest. Something deep inside me shifted. It wasn’t just friendship anymore. It was something heavier. Something dangerous. Something I wasn’t supposed to feel so soon.

⸻

(Evening — Common Room)

We sat near the fire later that night, talking about things I’d never told anyone. Laughing, teasing, sharing… opening pieces of ourselves like fragile glass.

I didn’t realize I was leaning closer, letting him see me without armor. Letting him in. Letting myself feel something I hadn’t allowed in years: trust, warmth, maybe even… love.

All the while, Theo was reporting back to Mattheo. Every smile I gave him. Every laugh I shared. Every hesitation when I let my guard slip. He told Mattheo about it all — every tiny victory — in that subtle way, like it was nothing more than conversation. But to me, it felt real. It felt honest.

I didn’t know then that every moment I was falling for him, he was playing a game I couldn’t see.

And yet… I couldn’t stop myself.

(Y/N’s POV)

Three months later

If someone had told me when I first arrived at Hogwarts that I’d end up here — falling for Theodore Nott — I would’ve laughed. But somehow, between late-night talks and quiet walks by the lake, the walls I’d built started to crumble.

Theo wasn’t just the mysterious boy in the corner anymore. He was my calm, my chaos, my distraction. He was the one person who could make me laugh when I wanted to cry.

And I was falling — fast.

⸻

(Slytherin Common Room — Late Night)

The fire had burned low, shadows dancing on the walls. Most of the dorms were quiet, only the faint hum of the castle around us.

Theo sat beside me on the sofa, close enough that our knees brushed. The space between us buzzed with something electric, something unspoken.

He looked at me for a long time before speaking. “You scare me sometimes,” he said softly.

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because you make me want to be better,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s… new for me.”

My breath caught. “You already are better,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He smiled — that small, crooked, heart-shattering smile — and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

I shook my head slowly. “No.”

His hand lingered, thumb brushing my cheek. And then, he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed or greedy. It was slow, careful, like he was memorising it. My heart pounded so hard I thought he’d feel it. His fingers trembled slightly as he cupped my face, and when I pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against mine.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, barely able to speak. “Yeah.”

He searched my eyes again, making sure. “You’d tell me if you weren’t?”

“I would,” I said, and meant it.

He kissed me again — deeper this time — and I melted into him. Every worry, every doubt, faded.

⸻

(Theo’s Dorm — Moments Later)

He led me upstairs, pausing every few steps like he was giving me time to change my mind. I didn’t.

In his room, the world seemed quieter. The candlelight flickered against the stone walls, and when he turned to me, there was a question in his eyes.

“Y/N… are you sure?”

I nodded, heart racing. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

He exhaled shakily, brushing his lips against my forehead. “If anything doesn’t feel right, you stop me. Promise?”

“I promise.”

He smiled — small, nervous, beautiful. Then he kissed me again. The kind of kiss that made everything else disappear.

The rest of that night lived in whispers and touches and quiet laughter. And just before everything faded into the kind of memory that would never leave me, I heard him breathe, almost to himself, “I’ll take care of you.”

And for the first time, I believed it.

⸻

(Later — Theo’s POV)

She was asleep, peaceful, the faint rise and fall of her breathing against his chest.

Theo’s stomach twisted. He should’ve felt victorious. He’d won.

Instead, he felt sick.

The image of Mattheo’s smirk flashed in his mind — the smug satisfaction, the words “Fifty galleons, Nott. Don’t forget.”

Theo swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s hair, guilt crawling up his throat.

He didn’t know when the game had stopped being fun. He only knew that somewhere along the way, he’d stopped playing.

And now, he had everything to lose.

(Y/N’s POV)

For three days, it felt like the world had stopped spinning.

Theo and I had found a rhythm that felt effortless — secret smiles across the Great Hall, fingers brushing under the table, whispered jokes in Potions. Every stolen glance felt like something sacred.

I’d never felt that safe with anyone before.

The night we’d shared kept replaying in my mind — the way he’d held me like I was something fragile, something worth protecting. The way he whispered, “I’ll take care of you,” against my skin.

I believed every word.

(Great Hall — Evening)

The Slytherin table was alive with laughter. Goblets clinked, jokes flew, everyone teasing and joking. Theo looked lighter than I’d ever seen him. He leaned close, whispering something about Blaise’s terrible handwriting, and I laughed, shoulders brushing his.

That’s when I noticed Mattheo leaned back in his chair, smirking lazily as though plotting something delicious.

Something in his eyes made my stomach twist.

“Riddle,” Theo said warily, sensing it too. “Don’t start.”

Mattheo ignored him. He stood up slowly, tapping his goblet with his spoon, that smirk never left his face.

The laughter froze. The hall went quiet, like someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, since we’re all in such high spirits tonight,” he drawled, “I thought it might be fun to share a little story.” Mattheo began, voice smooth, deliberate, and terrifyingly calm,

My chest tightened. Theo’s hand slipped from mine under the table.

Mattheo’s eyes found me, cold and cruel.

“No,” Theo said sharply, standing up. “Mattheo, don’t.”

All eyes were on me now. The professors turned, curious. Even the Gryffindor tables glanced toward our long Slytherin table.

His gaze locked on mine. “Oh, I think Y/N will want to hear this herself.”

I froze. My stomach plummeted.

“Theo and I,” he said, casual, deliberate, “had a little… competition.”

I blinked. “A… competition?”

“Yes,” he continued, smirking. “A bet. Fifty galleons to make the new girl fall for him.”

The words hit me like a hammer. My chest felt hollow. My legs were frozen.

“No…” I whispered. “It can’t be real.”

Theo’s face went pale. “Y/N… I—”

“Don’t,” I whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t you dare.”

Mattheo leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Oh, it gets better. Do you remember all those late nights, all the corners of the castle where no one went?” His voice lowered, deliberately loud enough for everyone to hear. “All the… intimate moments between you two?”

The hall went dead silent. Every pair of eyes snapped to me. Every whisper died. Even the professors were staring, frozen, appalled.

My stomach lurched. My chest constricted. I felt sick.

He smirked, enjoying it. “I think everyone should know… that Y/N Carrow, our dear, pristine little Slytherin, gave herself to Theodore Nott. Her first. Something she clearly thought meant… something.”

Mattheo’s voice dropped, venomous. “Fifty galleons. That’s what your first time was worth to him.”

Silence. Heavy and endless.

Theo looked like he’d been punched, words tumbling uselessly from his mouth. “Y/N— I swear— it wasn’t—”

But I couldn’t hear him. Not over the ringing in my ears, the pounding of my heart,

I couldn’t breathe. The words felt like fire and ice in my chest. My face burned hotter than I thought possible. Every eye on me — classmates, professors, every single person in the room — was watching me shrink under the weight of the betrayal.

Pansy’s reaction was instantaneous. Her jaw clenched, fists tightening on the table. Her green eyes blazed with fury, disbelief, and protectiveness. “Mattheo! How dare you!” she yelled, voice cracking with rage. “You sick fu—!”

She didn’t even wait. She grabbed me by the arm, forcing me to my feet. “Move, Y/N! Don’t you stop! Get out of here!”

I couldn’t even speak. My throat had gone dry. My vision blurred with tears.

Theo lunged forward, desperate, panic written across his face. “Y/N! Please! Stop! Don’t—please—”

“Lets go!” Pansy hissed, pulling me toward the corridor. Her grip was fierce, unrelenting. “Don’t look back. Don’t stop!”

Behind us, Theo’s broken, guttural pleas echoed. Mattheo’s low, cruel laugh followed, a sick, victorious sound that made my stomach twist into knots.

I ran until my legs burned. Until my tears soaked my sleeves. Until my chest felt hollowed out, and my heart… shattered.

I had loved him.

I had trusted him.

And now… the entire school and professors had seen me, had watched my heart get ripped apart, had watched my private life weaponized against me.

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

Because nothing could ever undo this

⸻

I didn’t want to leave my room.

The whispers had already started before I even set foot outside the Slytherin common room.

But lessons couldn’t be avoided. The professors expected attendance. Hogwarts didn’t care that my heart had been ripped out.

As I walked down the stone corridor, every eye seemed to follow me. Students whispered, snickered, stared. Every turn of a head was a reminder that everyone knew.

The Great Hall hadn’t been enough. The Slytherin table hadn’t been enough. Now the entire school would see the aftermath — my red, tear-streaked face, my trembling hands, the way I tried to hold myself together while my insides screamed.

In Potions, Professor Snape’s eyes lingered a fraction too long. Not with anger this time, but… sympathy. The faintest twitch of his lip, a quiet glance that said he understood the humiliation I carried. That no matter what, he saw the pain.

It didn’t help.

The whispers didn’t stop. “Did you hear what Mattheo said?” “Y/N and Theo…” “She was so—”

I kept my head down. Tried to focus on the cauldrons, on the smoke curling from the potions, on anything but the betrayal.

⸻

(Courtyard — Theo and Mattheo POVs)

By mid-afternoon, Theo had had enough. He found Mattheo in the courtyard, leaning against the wall with that smug expression that had haunted him since the Great Hall.

“Why are you still acting like this is a game?” Theo demanded, fists clenched.

Mattheo’s grin was cruel. “Because it is a game. And you’ve already lost.”

“Shut up!” Theo snapped, stepping closer, jaw tight, voice shaking with fury.

“Oh come on,” Mattheo drawled, shoving off the wall. “You can’t undo what’s done. Admit it — you wanted her, you got her, and now everyone knows. Should’ve thought about what you were doing before you let it get that far, lover boy.”

Theo’s knuckles connected with Mattheo’s jaw before the words had even finished leaving his mouth.

A crack, a gasp — and suddenly, chaos.

Mattheo staggered back, spitting out blood, and swung in return. The sound of fists hitting flesh echoed across the courtyard.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

The chant started small — a few first-years whispering, wide-eyed — and then it spread like wildfire.

Within seconds, students were pouring in from every direction, drawn by the noise, forming a tightening circle around them.

Theo’s blood boiled. All he could see was Mattheo’s smirk, her tears, the memory of that night being turned into something filthy.

“Say her name again,” Theo growled through his teeth, grabbing Mattheo by the collar. “I dare you.”

Mattheo laughed — low and dark, blood running from his lip. “What, Y/N? The girl who—”

Theo slammed him into the wall. “Don’t you dare—”

The crowd roared. Shouts, gasps, laughter. “Go on, Nott! Hit him again!” “Get him, Riddle!”

And then I appeared.

I hadn’t meant to. I had gone outside for air, just trying to breathe again, trying to stop shaking. But I froze when I saw them — Theo’s furious eyes, Mattheo’s mocking grin, the mob circling them.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Theo’s gaze flicked to me for just a second — but it was enough.

Everything in him seemed to collapse. His fist loosened, his expression faltered.

He saw my face. Pale. Tear-streaked. Exhausted. Broken.

“Y/N—” he breathed, his voice catching in his throat.

And then, above the noise, came a sound sharper than all the rest.

“ENOUGH!”

Snape’s voice cracked through the courtyard like a whip.

The crowd silenced instantly, the echo of it shuddering against the stone walls.

Students scattered back as the Professor’s robes billowed like storm clouds. He moved between them in seconds, grabbing each boy by the front of their uniforms and yanking them apart.

“Detention,” he hissed, his voice trembling with restrained fury. “Both of you. My office. Now.”

Theo tried to twist out of his grip, his eyes darting toward me again. “Professor—please, I just—”

Snape turned, his dark gaze slicing through the air, voice cold and final.

“Mr. Nott,” he said, dangerously quiet, “that girl is not to be disturbed. Control yourself.”

The entire courtyard seemed to hold its breath.

Theo’s hands shook at his sides, guilt and rage warring behind his eyes. He looked at me one last time — desperate, pleading — before Snape shoved him toward the castle.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. My chest ached so violently it hurt to stand.

All around me, the whispers began again, soft and poisonous.

“Did you see her face?” “She’s ruined.” “Poor thing.”

And I knew — the humiliation wasn’t over. It was only just beginning.

⸻

(Y/N’s POV — hallway after courtyard)

I retreated to the hallways, trying to disappear among the stone walls. But the whispers followed me. The sympathetic looks from professors — McGonagall, Flitwick, even a fleeting glance from Sprout — were like tiny knives, reminding me that everyone knew how completely I’d been humiliated.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run and never stop.

Pansy found me eventually, still fuming and protective, guiding me back to the common room. “Ignore them,” she hissed. “You’re stronger than this. We’ll fix it. Don’t let them see you crumble more than you already have.”

I nodded, but the truth was clear: I had crumbled.

I was shattered.

And I didn’t know if I could ever put the pieces back together.

(Theo’s POV)

I couldn’t breathe.

Snape’s grip on my robes was like iron, dragging me toward the castle. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if my chest was filled with stone. The courtyard still buzzed behind me — students whispering, pointing, laughing under their breath.

I wanted to stop. I wanted to run back to her. To Y/N. To fix it. To tell her it wasn’t a game. That I never meant for any of this to happen.

But Snape’s voice cut through my panic.

“Mr. Nott, I will not have you disturbing her again,” he said, eyes sharp and dark as pitch. “You will do as you are told. Now. My office. Immediately.”

I swallowed, swallowing the words I wanted to scream at her. My hands twitched at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

And all I could see… was her.

The way she had shrunk back into herself in the courtyard. Pale, tear-streaked, broken. How she had looked at me — part desperation, part hatred, part disbelief. And how she had run.

I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t.

⸻

The walk to Snape’s office felt endless. Every step, every heartbeat, a reminder that I had lost her. That I had shattered the one person I had ever truly cared for.

By the time we arrived, the office was silent. Snape’s cold glare pinned me to the spot. “Sit,” he said, voice cutting through the tension. “You have until tomorrow evening to reflect on your actions. If you so much as breathe her name, there will be consequences far worse than detention.”

“Yes, Professor,” I muttered, voice tight.

Snape’s gaze didn’t leave me until I was seated. Then, without another word, he turned to review some parchment, leaving me alone with my spiraling thoughts.

⸻

(Corridor outside — whispers of Hogwarts)

Even as I sat in the office, I could hear it. Whispers. Soft at first, then spreading.

“She looked destroyed.”

“Can you believe it?”

“Her first… and it was all a game?”

“She ran out crying. Poor girl.”

Each sentence struck me like a knife. Each one reminded me of my failure, my betrayal.

I pressed my hands over my face, trying to block it out. But I couldn’t. The memory of her face — pale, tear-streaked, her small frame trembling as Pansy dragged her away — was burned into my mind.

I had to see her. I had to tell her it wasn’t supposed to be like this. That she was never just a game to me. That I had loved her — still loved her — with every part of me.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

And for the first time, I felt the full weight of what I had done.

(Theo’s POV)

I couldn’t sit still. Every hour in Snape’s office felt like an eternity. Every glance at the corridor outside, every whisper from the castle, only reminded me of her — Y/N — broken, humiliated, and hating me.

I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know if I even could. But I had to try.

After Snape left me in detention with a mountain of essays on magical ethics, I snuck out, careful, keeping my head down, my ears straining for any sound of her.

I found her in the hallway near the library. She was sitting against the cold stone wall, knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing. Hair half covering her tear-streaked face.

My chest ached at the sight. I wanted to run to her, throw my arms around her, beg her to believe me, to hear me, to forgive me.

“Y/N—” I whispered, voice cracking.

Her head lifted slightly. Her eyes, wide and glassy, locked on me. But she didn’t move toward me. She didn’t smile. She didn’t even speak.

“I… I never meant for it to happen like that,” I said, stepping closer, careful to keep my hands visible, non-threatening. “It wasn’t supposed to be a game. You were never… just a bet. Not to me.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She shook her head slowly. “Stop,” she whispered. Her voice was soft, but every word stabbed me. “Just… stop.”

“I can’t,” I admitted. “I can’t leave it like this. I can’t leave you like this. I… I love you.”

She flinched at the words, twisting slightly away from me. “Love? You… used me,” she said, voice breaking. “You made me… everything I felt for you — it was all a lie.”

I dropped to my knees in front of her, desperate. “No. Please. You know me, Y/N. You know how I feel. I never meant for any of this to hurt you. It was supposed to… I don’t know… be fun, light. But I… I fell, and I can’t take back how much I’ve hurt you. But please, don’t shut me out completely. Don’t leave me like this.”

She shook her head again, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I… I need… I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

The words were a dagger to my chest. I had expected anger. I had expected yelling. But this… this quiet devastation was worse.

“I’ll wait,” I whispered, voice raw. “As long as it takes. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll prove it to you — to us. But please, Y/N… don’t push me away completely. Don’t disappear from my life.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t smile. She didn’t look at me. She just hugged her knees closer, the smallest shiver running through her frame.

And I sat there, powerless, broken, desperate, knowing that I had caused this.

The kiss haunted you.

Every time you closed your eyes, you felt it again—his hands in your hair, his lips crushing against yours like he was starved, like he needed you more than air. And every time, it ended the same: with him ripping away, leaving nothing but panic and broken pieces.

But worse than the kiss was his warning.

They’ll use you. They’ll kill you.

You didn’t know who “they” were, not really—but deep down, you were terrified you already did.

⸻

It was past curfew when it happened.

You were returning from the Astronomy Tower, a stolen moment of peace beneath the stars, when voices carried down the corridor ahead. Low, harsh, unmistakably secretive.

You should’ve turned back.

You should’ve left.

But then you heard his voice.

Theo.

Your pulse quickened as you pressed yourself into the shadows, the stone wall cool against your cheek. You edged closer, just enough to catch the words.

“—reckless,” Theo hissed, his voice sharp, tight with anger. “The raid was premature. It wasn’t supposed to happen yet.”

A pause. Then another voice, smooth and mocking.

Evan Rosier.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, Nott. You know what’s expected of us. Orders are orders.”

Theo swore under his breath, low and vicious. “Damn the orders. Someone could’ve been killed.”

Evan laughed, cruel and careless. “That’s the point. Fear spreads faster when there’s blood. You think the Dark Lord cares about casualties?”

Your stomach lurched. The world tilted.

Theo—your Theo—was standing in the dark, whispering with a Death Eater’s son about raids and orders.

“Careful,” Evan taunted. “You sound almost… sentimental.”

“Careful yourself,” Theo shot back, ice in his tone. “Say one more word like that, and I’ll shut you up myself.”

There was a beat of silence. For the first time, Evan’s easy tone faltered.

“…You wouldn’t dare.”

Theo stepped closer. “Try me.”

For a long moment, nothing but the sound of two boys breathing, tension crackling like static. Then Evan chuckled, backing off.

“Relax, Nott. I’ll keep your little bleeding heart out of my mouth. But if anyone else starts to notice where your loyalties waver…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “…they won’t hesitate to cut you down. And her, too.”

Your blood froze. He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to.

Theo didn’t respond. Not in words. But you heard it—the sharp crack of his fist connecting with Evan’s jaw, Evan’s hiss of pain, followed by footsteps storming away.

And then silence.

You stood there, rooted to the shadows, your heart breaking in your chest.

Theo Nott—cold, guarded, infuriating Theo—wasn’t just hiding secrets. He was tangled in them. Wrapped in darkness so deep you weren’t sure he’d ever escape it.

And worst of all—he’d kissed you knowing it.

⸻

You didn’t remember how you got back to the dorms. Only that your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, your breath wouldn’t come evenly, and your chest ached like someone had carved the truth into your ribs.

Theo Nott was a liar.

Theo Nott was dangerous.

And you—Merlin help you—were already in too deep.

⸻

The library was empty again, but this time, it felt suffocating rather than safe. The shadows seemed darker, heavier, pressing down on you like the weight of what you knew.

Theo was there, of course, sitting at your usual table, staring at a book he wasn’t reading. His jaw was tight, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds like he expected someone—or something—to come crashing in.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t know if you could. The truth was a stone in your chest, weighing you down with every heartbeat.

Finally, you couldn’t hold it any longer.

“You lied to me,” you spat, voice shaking.

He looked up, startled. “I—”

“You lied!” You slammed your fist on the table. The sound echoed through the empty library. “You’re tangled in this… this… darkness. And you kiss me like nothing matters!”

His eyes went wide, then narrowed. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “(Y/N), listen—”

“No, you listen!” You pointed at him, heart racing. “I overheard you with Evan! You’re working with them, aren’t you? Death Eaters! You’re—”

“Shhh!” His hand shot out, pressing over your mouth. His touch burned. “You don’t understand!”

“Oh, I understand perfectly!” Your voice was sharp, trembling with rage and hurt. “I understand that the boy I’ve hated and wanted for years is lying to me, keeping me close, and pretending he cares while he—”

“You think I pretended?” Theo snapped, his hands gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been trying to do? To protect you?”

“Protect me?” Your voice cracked. “By lying? By keeping me in the dark? By dragging me into this… mess?”

He stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. His eyes were stormy, wild, dangerous. “I did what I had to do! You think it’s easy? You think I want to be part of this? But if I don’t… if I fail… you’ll be the one they hurt.”

You felt your knees weaken. The truth was worse than you’d imagined. He wasn’t evil… but he was trapped, and you couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse.

“And the kiss?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “You kissed me knowing all this?”

He closed his eyes, jaw tightening. “I—I had to feel it once. Had to know you were mine… even if I can’t… even if I shouldn’t.”

The confession hit you like a curse and a blessing at the same time. Heat, fear, longing—all of it clashed in your chest.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Then the library door slammed open.

A shadow fell across the floor, something long and black. A figure you didn’t recognize, moving fast, wand at the ready. The air snapped with tension—danger, real and immediate.

Theo’s head shot up, eyes blazing with alarm. “Run.”

Your chest tightened, throat dry. You wanted to stay. You wanted to grab him and hold him and never let go.

But the figure advanced, voice low and cruel. “Looking for someone, Nott?”

Theo’s grip on your wrist was iron, his jaw hard, eyes wild. “We have to go. Now.”

You looked at him, burning with questions, anger, longing, and fear, and realized—you couldn’t. Not yet.

Not until you knew how far this went.

And Theo knew it too. That flicker of fear in his eyes told you everything: the next move could save you… or destroy you.

Mattheo Riddle x Malfoy Reader

Y/n Malfoy had grown up in the shadow of the Malfoy name, raised by Narcissa and Lucius alongside her twin, Draco. Together, they had navigated the treacherous waters of Slytherin life at Hogwarts, scheming, teasing, and looking out for each other. Loyalty and cunning were their shared language, and their circle of friends — Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Pansy Parkinson, and a few other trusted Slytherins — completed their small, formidable unit.

Y/n had always been close to Draco, but lately, her heart had strayed. Adrian Pucey, a quiet, skilled Slytherin chaser, had entered her life with a charm that was impossible to resist. The stolen glances, secret notes, and late-night walks along the lake had blossomed into a romance that felt intense, real, and thrilling.

Draco, however, had been wary from the start. “Y/n,” he had warned one evening, as they walked back from the library, “he’s only using you to get to me. Watch him. He’s clever, ambitious… and he doesn’t care about you. Not really.”

Y/n had brushed it off. She wanted to believe in Adrian. He made her feel alive, important, and wanted. But Draco’s words echoed quietly in her mind, a warning she tried desperately to ignore.

The first months with Adrian were intoxicating. He showered her with attention, whispered promises, and made her feel like the center of his world. But as time went on, cracks began to appear. Adrian’s charm was conditional — he drained her happiness, demanding her energy, her smiles, and her admiration. Small insults wrapped in jokes, fleeting dismissals, and moments where she felt invisible began to erode her spirit.

Yet, just when Y/n’s heart wavered, Adrian would turn on the warmth, the intensity, the devotion — making her believe again that she was special. It was a cruel game, one that kept her addicted, confused, and hopelessly tangled in his web.

Pansy noticed first. She would sit with Y/n after dinner, her sharp eyes scanning for signs of distress. “He’s exhausting you, Y/n. You’re brighter than this. You deserve better,” she’d say, but Y/n could only nod, too entranced by Adrian’s occasional bursts of affection to fully listen.

Even Draco’s warnings echoed in the background, but he had no power to stop her from falling deeper. Adrian’s goal was clear: control, attention, and dominance — and he had been meticulous in his plan, orchestrating a six-month-long performance that left Y/n both elated and empty.

The day of the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match arrived. Adrian, Draco, Theo, and Mattheo took to the pitch with precision, their brooms slicing through the crisp autumn air. Y/n and Pansy sat in the stands, nerves and excitement buzzing through her.

She cheered for Adrian with all her heart, watching every play, every goal, believing in him as she always had. She didn’t notice the way Draco’s jaw tightened every time Adrian’s eyes flicked toward the stands, nor the sharp glances Mattheo exchanged with Draco — silent calculations that only close friends could make.

Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup. Cheers echoed through the stands. The team returned to the common room, jubilant, sweat and laughter mixing in the air. Y/n’s heart was still racing, ready to celebrate the victory with Adrian.

And then he moved toward her.

“Y/n,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, a chilling smile on his lips. “I’ve been thinking. About us.”

Y/n’s stomach dropped. “Yes?” she asked, hope fluttering faintly despite her unease.

“You were fun while it lasted,” Adrian continued, his voice dripping with cruelty. “But honestly? I’ve never really cared. I was only using you… to prove something. To show Draco, and everyone else, that I’m untouchable. That I can have whatever I want. And you… you were convenient.”

Gasps rippled through the room. Pansy gripped Y/n’s arm tightly. Draco’s face went white with fury. Y/n felt the world tilt, her stomach dropping as the words crushed her, months of affection and trust evaporating instantly.

Adrian leaned closer, deliberately savoring her humiliation. “Don’t take it personally. You’ll find someone else. Someone who actually matters.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving Y/n trembling, broken, and exposed. Draco’s anger was palpable. “That… disgusting piece of—he used you for six months,” Draco spat, eyes blazing. “He’s not worthy of breathing the same air as you!”

From across the room, Mattheo Riddle had been watching quietly, analyzing every detail: Y/n’s devastation, Draco’s fury, Adrian’s smug satisfaction. And then, a smirk formed on his face.

“You’re not going to just sit there and let him humiliate you again, are you?” Mattheo asked, stepping toward Y/n, his voice low, magnetic, and teasing.

Y/n looked at him, heart still aching, yet something in his tone sparked hope. “What… what do you mean?”

He leaned closer, eyes glinting with a dangerous brilliance. “Maybe it’s time someone helped you show Adrian what happens when he underestimates a Malfoy. A little… fake relationship. Public appearances, mutual support… let him see he doesn’t get to play with you. Make him regret ever thinking he could.”

Y/n hesitated, pulse quickening. The idea was reckless, thrilling, and exhilarating all at once. Pansy’s nod beside her was silent encouragement.

“I’m in,” Y/n whispered finally, determination replacing heartbreak. “Let’s make him wish he’d never touched my life.”

Mattheo’s smirk deepened. “Good. Step one: appearances. Step two: his jealousy. Step three… total devastation. Trust me, Y/n. He won’t see it coming.”

And as Y/n met Mattheo’s calculating gaze, she realized this wasn’t just revenge. This was reclaiming control, pride, and maybe… something more.

The next morning, Y/n found herself standing beside Mattheo in the Great Hall. Pansy hovered nearby, eyes sharp, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. Draco had left earlier to meet with the team for post-Cup debriefs, but his warning still echoed in her mind: he’s only using you to get to me.

Mattheo leaned slightly toward her, his voice low and teasing. “Remember, this is a performance. Confidence. Charm. Make them notice.”

Y/n crossed her arms, trying not to roll her eyes. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to actually smile at people you don’t like.”

He smirked, the corners of his lips lifting in that maddening way that made her stomach flutter. “Ah, but that’s the beauty of it. Fake enough, and people believe it. Trust me — Adrian won’t know what hit him.”

As they walked through the hall together, the whispers started immediately. Students turned heads, some nudging their friends. Y/n felt the heat rise to her cheeks, partly from embarrassment, partly from the thrill of attention. She kept her gaze forward, while Mattheo subtly brushed against her arm, just enough to make the contact noticeable, deliberate.

“See that?” he murmured, nodding toward a group of Slytherins who were staring. “Already working.”

Y/n tried to maintain her composure, though she felt her heart racing. “It feels… strange,” she admitted quietly.

Mattheo’s eyes softened for just a moment before that sharp, calculating smirk returned. “Good. Strange is dangerous. Dangerous is attention. And attention is power — especially when it comes to Adrian.”

Sure enough, across the hall, she spotted Adrian. His expression flickered — a mix of surprise, irritation, and something she couldn’t quite read. He seemed unsettled, and for the first time in months, Y/n felt a surge of satisfaction.

The two of them sat at the Slytherin table, just close enough that whispers could spread, just far enough to appear natural. Mattheo leaned in, his voice low, conspiratorial.

“You look… good,” he said, the smirk threatening to turn into something unreadable.

Y/n’s pulse quickened. “Thanks… I guess.” She tried to play it cool, though her cheeks betrayed her.

“Relax,” he murmured. “We’re in control. You follow my lead, and by the end of the week, Adrian will regret ever thinking he could toy with Y/n Malfoy.”

And as Y/n caught the faint glint of admiration — or maybe jealousy — in Mattheo’s eyes, she realized this plan was more than revenge. It was exhilarating. Dangerous. And strangely… exciting.

For the first time since Adrian’s betrayal, Y/n felt alive again.

By mid-afternoon, Y/n found herself walking through the castle corridors with Mattheo at her side. Pansy trailed a few steps behind, keeping a sharp eye on the situation. The plan was simple: appear as a united, confident pair in front of the Slytherin students, make Adrian notice, and plant the first seeds of doubt in his mind.

Mattheo matched her pace perfectly, just close enough that everyone could see their easy camaraderie. He threw a casual arm over her shoulder as they passed a group of younger Slytherins, and whispers immediately rippled through the corridor.

“You’re… really doing this, huh?” Y/n murmured, a mix of nerves and excitement curling in her stomach.

Mattheo smirked, eyes glinting. “Of course. And you’re doing it perfectly. Look around — they all notice. People don’t gossip about someone they ignore.”

Y/n kept her gaze forward, trying not to let the thrill of his proximity overwhelm her. But she could feel the subtle pressure of his arm brushing against hers, the light touch that was just enough to make her pulse quicken.

And then she saw him. Adrian. Leaning casually against a doorway, his expression flickering from surprise to irritation, and then… something else. Y/n couldn’t tell if it was jealousy or frustration, but the way his gaze lingered on her made a tiny, vindictive smile tug at her lips.

“See?” Mattheo whispered, as if reading her mind. “He notices. Already.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small thrill that coursed through her. “You make it sound so… easy.”

Mattheo’s smirk deepened. “That’s because it is easy when you have the right partner.”

The day continued like that — subtle touches, shared jokes, and small displays of familiarity that drew attention without seeming staged. Every time Adrian’s eyes flicked toward them, Y/n felt a spark of satisfaction. For once, she wasn’t the one being toyed with. She had power. She had control.

By the time they returned to the common room, whispers had spread, glances exchanged, and a few students were already speculating about the new pairing. Mattheo leaned close to her as they approached the fireplace.

“You did well today,” he murmured. “And tomorrow… we up the stakes.”

Y/n’s heart raced, not from fear, but from anticipation.

The next evening, the Great Hall buzzed with chatter and the clatter of cutlery as Slytherin students settled in for dinner. Candles floated overhead, casting a warm glow on polished tables. Y/n walked in beside Mattheo, his arm draped casually over her shoulders — just enough to look natural, intimate, and impossible to ignore.

Whispers immediately spread through the hall. Pansy’s grin was smug as she trailed behind, clearly thrilled by how effective the plan already was. Draco shot Y/n a brief look from across the table — a mix of warning and admiration. Theo gave Mattheo a knowing nod, acknowledging the strategy at play.

And then… Adrian noticed.

Y/n caught the flicker of surprise in his dark eyes, followed by irritation that quickly twisted into something sharper. His jaw tightened as he observed the easy familiarity, the effortless chemistry Mattheo displayed with her. Every subtle touch, every shared glance, was a silent statement: Y/n wasn’t his to toy with anymore.

Mattheo leaned close, his voice a low murmur only she could hear. “See that? He’s already paying attention.”

Y/n suppressed a shiver — part anticipation, part something else entirely. “He’s… staring,” she whispered, though the hint of satisfaction in her tone betrayed her.

“Good. Let him stew,” Mattheo said, smirking. “We’re just getting started.”

Throughout the meal, the two of them maintained their “public couple” persona. Mattheo laughed at her jokes — sometimes louder than necessary — and Y/n leaned into him slightly, enough to make it believable. They exchanged small, fleeting touches: a hand brushing his arm, a casual bump of shoulders, a whisper of a word that made others notice without seeming deliberate.

Adrian’s frustration was palpable. He slammed his goblet down quietly, forcing himself to look away, but every so often his gaze flicked back to them, a mix of disbelief and jealousy in his eyes. Y/n felt a rush of vindication. For the first time in months, she wasn’t the one being humiliated.

Mattheo’s voice tickled her ear. “Tomorrow, we raise the stakes even higher. A little more boldness. He won’t know whether to be furious or… something else entirely.”

Y/n’s pulse quickened. Dangerous, thrilling, intoxicating — that was Mattheo’s game. And with every stolen glance and subtle touch, the lines between fake and real began to blur.

By the end of the meal, whispers had turned to outright speculation. Even students from other houses were noticing. Adrian’s jaw clenched as he realized just how effective their act had become.

Y/n caught Mattheo’s smirk as they left the hall together. “This… feels good,” she admitted quietly.

Mattheo’s eyes glinted, sharp and teasing. “Better than good. This is delicious. And trust me, by the time we’re done, Adrian Pucey will regret ever thinking he could break a Malfoy.”

And as they disappeared down the corridor, side by side, Y/n realized something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in months: she was no longer powerless. She had the plan, the ally, and maybe… just maybe, the beginnings of something real with Mattheo.

Y/n and Pansy were walking through the quiet corridor after their last class, books clutched to their chests. Pansy’s expression was serious, protective, but she tried to keep it casual.

“You’re handling this… well,” Pansy murmured, glancing at Y/n. “Adrian doesn’t get to walk all over you anymore. I swear, Y/n, he’s lucky I haven’t hexed him already.”

Y/n gave a small, tight-lipped smile. “I’m trying, Pansy. But it’s exhausting. He’s… he’s relentless.”

Before Pansy could respond, a familiar shadow appeared at the end of the corridor. Adrian. His expression was dark, controlled, and dangerous. Without hesitation, he strode forward and grabbed Y/n’s wrist, pulling her close.

“You belong to me, Y/n,” he said, voice low but carrying the kind of authority that had once terrified her. “No matter who you try to flaunt in front of me, no matter who you think can replace me… you’ll always be mine.”

Y/n’s chest tightened, but she forced her voice steady and strong. “I do not belong to anyone. Especially not you.”

Adrian’s grip tightened on her arm. “Careful,” he hissed, leaning closer. “You forget your place sometimes. You’ll learn… eventually. You’ll understand that I know what’s best for you.”

“Let go of me, Adrian!” Y/n’s voice cracked, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of fear. She yanked against his grasp, but he didn’t release her.

From the other end of the corridor, footsteps pounded — Mattheo, leaving class, had seen the confrontation. His eyes widened at the sight of Adrian controlling Y/n like this. Without thinking, he sprinted forward, anger and protectiveness blazing.

“You touch her again, Adrian, and your jaw won’t be the only thing that’s broken,” Mattheo growled, before swinging a fist that connected squarely with Adrian’s jaw. The Slytherin chaser stumbled back, stunned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Mattheo didn’t give him a chance to recover. He grabbed Y/n’s hand and pulled her close, his lips finding hers in a fierce, possessive kiss. The kiss was urgent, claiming, and protective — a clear message not just to Adrian, but to Y/n herself.

When they finally pulled apart, Mattheo’s dark eyes met hers, glinting with intensity. “I’ll never let him touch you again,” he whispered. “Do you understand?”

Y/n’s pulse raced, adrenaline and something far more dangerous coursing through her. She nodded, trembling but defiant. “I… I understand.”

Adrian, still stunned, glared at them both, but there was no way he could approach now. Not with Mattheo there, and not with the fury and ownership in his eyes.

As Mattheo held her close, Y/n felt something shift inside her. She wasn’t powerless anymore. She had allies, she had control, and maybe — just maybe — she had found someone who could match her fire.

Word of the corridor confrontation spread through the castle like wildfire. By the time Y/n and Mattheo returned to the common room, whispers were buzzing, and curious glances followed them from every corner. Pansy met them at the entrance, eyes wide with excitement.

“Oh, he had it coming,” Pansy muttered, a sly grin on her face. “I didn’t think anyone would actually stand up to him like that.”

Y/n’s chest still raced, her lips tingling from the unexpected kiss. She sank into a couch, speechless, staring at the stone floor as if the warmth of Mattheo’s lips had burned itself onto her.

“It… it was just to piss him off, right?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper, glancing at Mattheo with a mixture of disbelief and lingering embarrassment.

Mattheo’s smirk turned into something sharper, possessive. He leaned in, his voice low and dangerous, sending shivers down her spine.

“No,” he said, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “I’m only claiming what’s mine. And showing him that he doesn’t get the girl anymore… I do.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. Her mind screamed in shock, her pulse quickened, and warmth spread through her chest. She had expected teasing, perhaps a calculated move to make Adrian jealous—but not this. Not a claim, not a possessive, intoxicating declaration.

Her gaze dropped, cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t stop the flutter of excitement in her chest. “Y-you… you mean it?” she asked, her voice shaky but tinged with something vulnerable.

Mattheo smirked again, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Every word. He doesn’t get to touch you again, Y/n. Not him. Only me.”

For the first time in months, Y/n felt safe, powerful, and exhilarated all at once. Her lips curved into a small, shy smile, her pulse still racing from adrenaline, desire, and the thrill of possession.

Pansy, watching from the side, rolled her eyes with a grin. “Well, that’s one way to make him eat crow,” she muttered.

Y/n leaned into Mattheo slightly, her heart fluttering in a way she hadn’t felt since Adrian had first manipulated her. For once, she wasn’t just reclaiming control — she was feeling something else entirely. Something dangerously intoxicating.

Mattheo’s hand brushed hers, deliberate, possessive, and comforting. “Tomorrow,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “we make him wish he’d never thought he could touch a Malfoy. And I’ll be right here… claiming what’s mine.”

Theodore Nott x Bestfriend Reader

Before they could even walk, their mothers had already decided they’d be inseparable.

Christina Nott and Cressida Selwyn had met at Hogwarts — both proud Slytherins, both sharp, elegant, and utterly loyal to one another. They’d survived school, marriages, and the complicated politics of pure-blood society side by side. So when their children were born within three weeks of each other, the friendship naturally became a family tradition.

Theodore Nott and Y/N Selwyn — the heirs to two of the oldest, most respected Slytherin families — had shared playpens, tutors, and tantrums. If one was missing, the other was guaranteed to be nearby.

As children, they’d crawl under the dining tables at the Notts’ estate, whispering plans of running away to become famous Quidditch players. They’d steal pastries from the Selwyn kitchens and get scolded by house-elves who secretly adored them. Their mothers would just exchange knowing smiles, already resigned to the fact that the two of them were a package deal.

When Hogwarts letters arrived, they opened them together — both stamped with the same green wax seal.

From the moment they stepped into the Great Hall and the Sorting Hat barely touched their heads before shouting “Slytherin!”, everyone knew it was fate.

For years, they were just Theo and Y/N.

Late nights studying in the common room.

Partners in Potions, always arguing but never apart.

Firewhisky-fueled laughter after curfew, sneaking down to the lake with Mattheo, Draco, and the rest of the boys.

Everyone saw it — the quiet glances, the unspoken loyalty, the way Theo’s eyes softened only for her. But when anyone dared to tease them, both would immediately scoff.

“He’s like my brother,” Y/N would say, rolling her eyes.

“She’s basically family,” Theo would insist, his voice a little too quick.

And so it stayed that way — for sixteen years.

Until sixth year.

When everything changed.

By sixth year, Theodore Nott and Y/N Selwyn were a Hogwarts constant.

If Theo was in the library, Y/N was beside him — sprawled across the desk, humming to herself while he studied.

If Y/N got caught sneaking back to the common room past curfew, Theo was the one making up the excuse that got her out of trouble.

And if either of them was seen without the other, someone, somewhere, would inevitably ask, “Are you two finally dating yet?”

“Merlin’s sake,” Y/N muttered one morning in the Great Hall, stabbing her fork into a piece of toast. “If one more person asks if we’re together, I’m hexing them.”

Across from her, Theo smirked over the rim of his coffee cup. “You hex people for fun, Selwyn. That’s hardly a threat.”

Mattheo Riddle, sitting beside him, grinned. “Maybe people wouldn’t ask if you didn’t act like a married couple.”

Y/N shot him a glare, her expression deadly but her tone playful. “We don’t act like a married couple.”

Draco leaned forward, amused. “You do realise you literally argued over what colour tie he should wear this morning?”

Theo gave an unbothered shrug. “It clashed with her hair. She was right.”

Mattheo dropped his fork with a laugh. “Oh, you’re gone, Nott.”

Theo’s ears flushed faintly pink, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He’d learned long ago that fighting back only encouraged them. Instead, he turned to Y/N, pretending not to notice the way her eyes caught the sunlight or the faint green shimmer on her nails that matched her tie.

She’d always been beautiful — but lately, it was different. She carried herself differently. The confidence, the teasing smirk, the way she seemed to draw every eye in a room without even trying.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed before. He just… hadn’t let himself.

Now, every time someone looked at her a little too long, every time she laughed at someone else’s joke, something uneasy twisted in his stomach.

And he hated it.

“Alright,” Y/N said, rising from the table, her bag slung over her shoulder. “Potions next. Try not to get distracted, Theo.”

“I don’t get distracted,” he muttered automatically, following her out.

Mattheo called after them, “You do when it’s her!”

Y/N only tossed her hair and looked over her shoulder, grinning. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Riddle.”

Theo tried not to smile — he really did. But Merlin, she made it impossible.

The Slytherin common room was buzzing that night — green flames dancing in the fireplace, soft laughter echoing off the stone walls. Someone had smuggled in bottles of Firewhisky, and the faint scent of smoke hung in the air.

Theo sat slouched in one of the leather chairs, pretending to read a book while his friends lounged around. He’d been on the same page for ten minutes.

Across the room, Y/N sat cross-legged on the rug, wand lazily levitating a deck of Exploding Snap cards while Enzo and Pansy argued over the rules. Her laughter — soft, familiar — cut through the noise.

“Not studying tonight?” Mattheo asked, sprawling onto the couch beside Theo.

Theo hummed in response, eyes still following Y/N. “I’m reading.”

Mattheo snorted. “Right. And I’m Head Boy.”

When the cards exploded in a puff of smoke, Y/N threw her head back laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners. Theo’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Mattheo noticed. “You know, if you’re going to look at her like that, at least do something about it.”

Theo’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “She’s my best friend.”

“That’s adorable,” Mattheo said dryly. “Now tell me the one where you don’t stare at her like you’re planning your wedding vows.”

Theo exhaled through his nose, shutting his book. “You’re drunk.”

“Not yet.” Mattheo smirked, leaning back. “But you might make me if I have to keep watching this tragic slow burn.”

Before Theo could respond, Y/N appeared, plopping herself down onto the arm of his chair — close enough for her perfume to make his brain stop working properly.

“Riddle’s trying to convince Pansy he can outdrink her,” she said with an amused grin. “Should I start taking bets?”

Theo tilted his head toward her. “I’d put ten Galleons on Pansy. He’ll be unconscious in an hour.”

Mattheo raised his glass from the couch. “I heard that, Nott!”

Y/N laughed, and the sound went straight through him.

She nudged him with her knee. “You’ve been quiet tonight. Everything alright?”

Theo forced a small smile. “Just tired.”

But she saw through it — she always did. Her gaze softened for a second, lingering on his. “Don’t overthink everything for once, yeah?”

He wanted to say I’m trying not to, especially when you sit this close.

Instead, he gave a low chuckle. “Noted, Selwyn.”

“Good.” She grinned, hopping up again. “Because you’re coming to Pansy’s party tomorrow. No excuses.”

Theo blinked. “I— what?”

She pointed her wand at him in mock warning. “I mean it, Nott. You’re going. You never come to these things anymore.”

He sighed, leaning back. “I don’t like parties.”

She smirked, already walking away. “You’ll like this one.”

Mattheo laughed into his drink. “Oh, you’re doomed.”

Theo didn’t answer — just watched her disappear up the girls’ staircase, feeling that same uneasy twist in his chest.

He had no idea how right Mattheo was.

“Hold still, or I’ll hex you,” Pansy said, wand in hand as she finished fixing the shimmer along Y/N’s collarbone. “You look criminally good, by the way.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “It’s just a party, Pans.”

Pansy arched an eyebrow. “A party that Theo Nott is finally attending after two years of hiding in the library. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t make him come—”

“Oh, please,” Pansy interrupted, grinning. “If I told him it was anyone else’s party, he’d still be in the dungeons pretending to read. You’re the reason he’s showing up, Selwyn. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

Y/N gave her a look but didn’t answer. Deep down, part of her knew it was true. Theo rarely bothered with parties, but when she asked — no, demanded — he’d sighed and agreed. That was the thing about him. For all his quiet, stubborn moods, he never could tell her no.

Pansy stepped back to admire her handiwork. “There. Perfect. If he doesn’t combust when he sees you, I’ll be shocked.”

Y/N turned toward the mirror. The emerald silk dress shimmered under the candlelight — simple but fitted, elegant with just enough edge. Her hair was soft and loose, the faintest trace of silver around her eyes. She looked older. Sharper. The same, but not.

“Merlin,” she muttered, tugging slightly at the neckline. “It’s too much.”

Pansy smirked. “Exactly enough.”

⸻

Down in the common room, Theo was already there — leaning against the wall with a half-empty glass of Firewhisky, watching the growing crowd.

He wasn’t sure why he’d let Y/N talk him into this. Maybe it was the way she’d looked at him when she’d said “You’re coming.” Maybe it was the idea of her surrounded by people like Barty Crouch Jr. — the kind of blokes who didn’t know when to stop flirting.

The thought made his jaw tighten.

Mattheo clapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, mate. You look like you’re about to attend a funeral.”

Theo shot him a glare. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Mattheo drawled. “So fine that you’ve checked the stairs twelve times in the last five minutes.”

Theo opened his mouth to retort — and then she appeared.

Y/N descended the stairs with that effortless grace she always had, laughing at something Pansy whispered beside her. The green of her dress caught the light, matching her eyes almost perfectly.

For a moment, the noise in the common room dulled. Theo didn’t even realise he’d stopped breathing until Mattheo elbowed him lightly.

“Careful, Nott,” he murmured. “You’re staring.”

Theo forced his eyes away, jaw tight. “Shut up.”

Y/N spotted them and smiled — that smile that had been undoing him since they were kids.

“You came,” she said when she reached him, slightly out of breath from the stairs.

“I said I would.”

“You also said that last time, then disappeared halfway through.”

He gave a small, reluctant smirk. “Guess you’ll have to make sure I stay.”

Her grin widened, playful and dangerous. “I think I can manage that.”

The music pulsed through the room, low and heavy — a thrum that seemed to match the beat of Theo’s heart. The air was thick with Firewhisky and laughter, flickering green light spilling over velvet and glass.

And then he saw her.

Y/N Selwyn.

In that emerald dress that looked like it had been made to taunt him.

She was dancing — spinning beneath the lanterns, eyes bright, smile easy. The hem of her dress brushed her thighs as she moved, the sound of her laugh slicing clean through the noise.

Theo had seen her laugh a thousand times before. But this one — this one wasn’t for him.

Because standing beside her, close enough to touch, was Barty Crouch Jr.

Theo’s jaw flexed. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand until it cracked faintly. He could barely hear Mattheo over the blood rushing in his ears.

Barty leaned down, said something against her ear.

She laughed — low, warm, the kind of laugh Theo used to think was his.

And then Barty’s hand slid around her waist.

Theo went still. Every muscle in his body locked.

Across the room, the light caught on her hair, her smile — and the smug way Barty looked at her like she was a game he’d already won.

The room blurred around him. The music dulled.

All he could see was her.

Mattheo’s voice cut faintly through the haze. “Oh, bloody hell. There it is — the Nott explosion countdown.”

Theo didn’t answer. He set his drink down hard enough for the liquid to slosh over the rim.

He didn’t think — didn’t care.

He just moved.

Through the crowd, through the pulsing light, every step like a fuse burning shorter. His eyes never left her.

Barty turned first, that smug grin twisting just slightly when he realised who was coming.

Theo didn’t stop.

He reached them, hand closing around Y/N’s wrist — firm, possessive, not enough to hurt but enough to make her breath hitch. She turned, confusion flickering across her face just as he pulled her toward him.

The world spun — music, whispers, green light — and then his mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was six years of restraint snapping all at once — desperate, reckless, and everything he’d been pretending not to feel.

The room went silent.

Mattheo’s low whistle cut through the air. “Finally.”

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

The music stuttered out, whispers rising around them like a wave. Theo could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears — fast, wild, uncontrollable.

Her lips were soft, warm, unmoving for half a second before she pulled back with a small gasp. Her hand came up instinctively to his chest, stopping him.

“Theo—” her voice was barely a whisper, her eyes wide, startled, searching his.

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. His breath was ragged, his mind white noise.

Around them, the crowd had gone quiet — everyone frozen, half in shock, half in delight. Pansy’s mouth hung open. Draco looked like Christmas had come early. Mattheo was smirking into his drink, clearly fighting the urge to cheer.

And then there was Barty.

He stood just a step away, expression hardening. “What the hell was that, Nott?”

Theo finally tore his gaze from Y/N long enough to look at him — a glare so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “Don’t touch her again.”

Y/N blinked, still catching her breath. “Theo, stop—”

But he didn’t. His voice was low, dangerous. “You think you can talk your way into every girl in this castle, Crouch? Not this one.”

Barty scoffed, taking a step closer. “Didn’t realise you’d claimed her.”

The words hit like a slap — not for Theo, but for her.

She turned sharply toward Theo, eyes narrowing, fire flickering beneath the shock. “Claimed?”

Theo’s expression faltered, realisation flashing through the haze of adrenaline. “That’s not what I—”

“Then what was that?” she demanded, voice low but shaking with emotion. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you just decided for both of us.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came.

For the first time in his life, Theodore Nott didn’t have a single thing to say.

Y/N stared at him a moment longer, chest rising and falling fast — the weight of six years of friendship pressing between them.

Then she shook her head, turning away. “You can’t just kiss me because you’re jealous, Theo.”

And she was gone — pushing past him, past the crowd, disappearing up the stairs as whispers erupted behind her.

Theo stood frozen in the middle of the common room, the taste of her still on his lips, the silence louder than any noise.

Mattheo sighed from the couch, swirling his drink. “Well,” he muttered. “That went well.”

Theo didn’t answer. He just stared at the empty staircase, jaw tight, chest aching with something he couldn’t begin to name.

The corridors outside the common room were quiet, the air cool against her flushed skin. Y/N barely realised she was walking until she reached the end of the hall and leaned against the stone wall, heart pounding like she’d just run a race.

Her fingers brushed her lips.

Merlin.

He’d kissed her.

Theo. Her best friend.

For years, people had teased, joked, assumed — and she’d always laughed it off. Because it wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be. Theo was… safe. Steady. The one constant in her life she didn’t have to question.

Until now.

Now she couldn’t stop replaying the look in his eyes before he kissed her — the anger, the jealousy, the need.

That wasn’t the Theo she knew.

That was someone who’d been holding something back for a long, long time.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, pressing her palms to her face.

She didn’t even know what she felt — anger? shock? something she couldn’t quite name but burned anyway.

He had no right. No right to just decide that moment for her.

And yet…

When he kissed her, something inside her had sparked — a flash of heat, recognition, memory. Like part of her had always been waiting for it, even if she’d never dared to admit it.

The worst part was that it hadn’t felt wrong.

She hated that.

Behind her, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor. She didn’t turn — she didn’t have to. She already knew that walk anywhere.

“Theo, don’t,” she said quietly, not looking at him.

He stopped a few feet away, his voice rough. “Y/N—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She turned then, eyes sharp despite the wobble in her voice. “You can’t just— Merlin, you can’t do that.”

He looked wrecked — hair disheveled, shirt untucked, the usual calm gone from his face. “I know. I shouldn’t have—”

“Then why did you?”

He hesitated. “Because watching him touch you felt like someone was twisting a knife in my chest.”

The words hit hard enough to make her breath catch.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I didn’t plan it, I just— I’ve spent my whole life trying not to feel this way, and tonight I— I couldn’t stop.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart betraying her with every fast, uneven beat.

“Theo…”

He stepped closer, slow, careful. “Tell me you didn’t feel anything when I kissed you,” he said quietly. “And I’ll walk away. I swear.”

Her throat went dry. She wanted to say it — wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it hadn’t meant anything.

But the lie stuck in her mouth.

So she said nothing.

Theo’s eyes searched hers, reading everything she didn’t say. His jaw tensed, and after a long moment, he nodded once — the smallest, saddest smile crossing his face.

“Thought so,” he murmured, voice breaking just slightly.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the dim corridor with her heart racing and her entire world turned upside down.

The morning light cut through the Slytherin common room in soft, muted streaks — a sharp contrast to the chaos of last night. The air still smelled faintly of Firewhisky and smoke, abandoned cups and empty bottles scattered across tables.

Y/N sat curled on the emerald-green sofa, a half-finished cup of tea in her hands, trying to ignore the whispering headache pulsing behind her eyes.

Trying harder to ignore the memory of Theo’s lips on hers.

“Rough night?” Pansy asked, sliding in beside her with a knowing smirk.

Y/N didn’t look up. “Something like that.”

Pansy leaned in, lowering her voice. “So, how was it?”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Selwyn. Everyone saw it.” Pansy’s grin was positively feral. “The kiss. Nott. You. Fire. Passion. The whole room nearly combusted.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “It was— it wasn’t— Merlin, Pansy, it just happened.”

“Mhm.” Pansy sipped her pumpkin juice like she wasn’t dissecting Y/N’s life. “And yet you’re still blushing about it.”

“I’m not—”

“Sweetheart, you are literally the colour of a Gryffindor tie.”

Before Y/N could snap back, the portrait swung open and Theo walked in.

Conversation dipped instantly. Even Draco, who never missed a chance to mock anything resembling feelings, looked up from his breakfast.

Theo’s eyes met hers across the room — just for a second. Long enough for her chest to tighten, for the entire memory to crash back like a wave.

Then he looked away. Walked past. Sat at his usual spot near the fire, acting as though nothing in the world was different.

Y/N exhaled shakily, setting her tea down a little too hard.

Mattheo leaned over the back of the couch, grinning. “So… you two gonna talk about it or keep making the rest of us suffer through the sexual tension?”

Pansy snorted. “Please, they’ve been doing that for six years.”

Y/N groaned, standing abruptly. “I’m going to the library.”

“You hate the library,” Draco pointed out lazily.

“Then I’m going anywhere that isn’t here.”

She grabbed her bag and walked out, ignoring the smirks, ignoring the pounding of her heart when she passed Theo’s chair.

But as she brushed by, she caught it — the faintest whisper under his breath.

“Y/N…”

She froze, eyes flicking to him.

Theo didn’t look up, just turned a page in his book. To anyone else, it was nothing. But she knew him too well.

That wasn’t a name spoken casually.

That was a name spoken like a prayer he shouldn’t be saying aloud.

And suddenly, pretending nothing happened felt like the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

Sixteen years of friendship — gone quiet.

Weeks passed in fragments:

A glance across the Great Hall.

An almost “hi” in the corridor.

An empty space beside her in Potions that used to belong to him.

It wasn’t anger keeping them apart. It was fear — that if either of them spoke, everything would spill out at once.

Their friends noticed first.

Draco and Mattheo started making “schedules,” deciding who would sit with who at meals so no one had to pick sides. Pansy rolled her eyes every time the group split up, muttering about how stupidly in love they both were.

And still, Y/N kept her distance — hoping time would untangle the knot that had formed the night Theo kissed her.

But time only made it tighter.

Late one night, Y/N sat curled in an armchair in the Slytherin common room, staring at the fire when her mother’s face appeared in the Floo.

“Darling! You’ve been quiet lately.”

Y/N tried for casual. “Just… school. You know. N.E.W.T.s. Chaos.”

Cressida Selwyn raised a perfectly shaped brow. “Ah. Or perhaps a certain Theodore Nott?”

Y/N groaned. “Mum—”

“Oh, don’t mum me,” Cressida laughed. “Christina and I have been waiting years for this! He’s adored you since he was four, you know. Used to draw terrible stick-figure versions of you two getting married.”

“Mum!”

“Christina showed me one just last week. She’s thrilled he finally found the courage to do something about it.”

Y/N froze. “Wait… he told her?”

Her mum’s smile softened. “He didn’t have to. She’s known her son longer than you’ve known yourself. Theo’s always looked at you like you hung the stars, darling. The only question is — are you ready to see it?”

And with that, her mother winked and disappeared in a swirl of green flame, leaving Y/N staring at the dying embers, heart hammering.

That same night, a parchment appeared on the notice board outside the common room.

Detention: Theodore Nott, Y/N Selwyn.

⸻

The classroom was dark except for a few flickering candles. Dust floated through the air as they scrubbed old potion jars, shoulder to shoulder in silence.

Every brush of his arm against hers sent sparks up her spine.

Theo’s jaw was tight, his usual calm cracked by the tension between them. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said finally, his voice low.

“I’ve been busy,” she muttered.

“With everything except me.”

She froze, fingers gripping the cloth. “Theo—”

“I’m not sorry for kissing you,” he interrupted, eyes burning into hers. “I know I should be. But I’m not.”

The words hung between them, thick and dangerous.

She turned slowly to face him. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” His voice was rough, quiet but furious. “You think I haven’t been losing my mind for weeks? You think sixteen years of pretending I don’t want you just disappears because I finally slipped up?”

Her breath hitched. “We’re supposed to be friends.”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer, “but tell me this still feels like friendship.”

She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He was so close now that his breath brushed her cheek, his tie hanging loose, his hands still clutching the rag like he was trying to hold himself back.

And then — something in her broke.

“Fuck it,” she whispered.

She dropped the rag, grabbed his tie, and pulled him down until their lips crashed together.

The kiss was desperate — years of tension and unspoken want igniting all at once. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as she deepened the kiss, the world spinning around them. The faint taste of soap and ink, the scrape of stone beneath their knees, the sound of both their hearts beating out of rhythm.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and wide-eyed, neither spoke for a moment.

Theo stared at her, lips swollen, voice barely a whisper. “We just broke the only rule we ever had.”

Y/N smiled faintly, still out of breath. “Then maybe it’s time we made a new one.”

If there was one thing sixteen years of friendship had taught Y/N Selwyn, it was how to hide things from Theodore Nott.

Unfortunately, that skill completely abandoned her the morning after she’d snogged him senseless in detention.

The sun hit the Great Hall’s long windows in a wash of gold as she slid into her usual seat beside Mattheo. The table buzzed with laughter and chatter, but she felt every molecule of awareness lock onto the boy walking toward her.

Theo looked maddeningly composed — hair a little messier than usual, tie slightly undone, that lazy grin that said nothing to see here.

But his eyes? His eyes found hers like they always did, sharp and knowing.

“Morning, Selwyn,” he said smoothly, dropping into the seat across from her.

“Morning,” she replied, pretending to be deeply fascinated by her toast.

Mattheo glanced between them, squinting. “Weird. Usually, there’s at least three insults by now.”

Draco looked up from his paper. “Or she’s threatening to hex him. Something’s off.”

“I’d say someone’s off,” Pansy chimed in, smirking.

Theo coughed into his juice. Y/N kicked him under the table.

“Ow— bloody hell!” He grinned, leaning forward. “Bit aggressive this morning, aren’t we?”

Her heart jumped. Don’t smile like that.

“I just don’t appreciate people implying things that aren’t true,” she shot back, cheeks pink.

Mattheo gasped, all drama. “You’re blushing, Selwyn.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” Pansy sing-songed.

Draco sighed, folding his paper. “Merlin, just admit something happened so we can all stop pretending you two aren’t one misstep away from snogging on the table.”

Theo smirked. “And ruin the suspense? Not a chance.”

Y/N nearly choked on her pumpkin juice. “You are impossible.”

He leaned closer, voice low enough only she could hear. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide — and that was it.

Mattheo’s spoon clattered to the table. “I KNEW IT!”

The entire Slytherin table erupted into chaos — laughter, cheers, Pansy clapping like it was Christmas morning.

Y/N buried her face in her hands as Theo just sat back, grinning like the smug bastard he was.

“Oh, don’t act surprised, love,” Pansy teased. “You two have been making eyes at each other since nappies.”

Theo threw an arm around the back of Y/N’s chair, casual and infuriatingly confident. “Guess it just took detention to make it official.”

“Official?” she asked, looking up at him.

He smiled, soft and sure. “If you’ll have me.”

Her lips curved despite herself. “You already know the answer, Nott.”

Mattheo groaned. “Merlin save us all, they’re going to be unbearable now.”

Draco lifted his cup in mock salute. “To the worst-kept secret in Hogwarts.”

Theo’s thumb brushed her hand under the table — subtle, grounding, electric.

Rafe Cameron x Thornton Reader

Mentions of an accident, memory loss, hurt

The first thing I notice is the bright white ceiling above me, so clean and sterile it almost hurts my eyes. My head throbs, my body feels heavy, but my thoughts… feel scattered, like pages ripped from a book I’ve never read.

“Y/N?”

I turn toward the voice. My mom. Perfectly poised, pearls at her throat, hair flawless, moving with a controlled urgency only a Kook mother could master. “You’re awake!”

“Mom…” I croak, my voice strange to me.

She hurries forward, taking my hand. “Oh, sweetheart, you scared us. How do you feel?”

I blink. Confusion washes over me. “I… okay, I guess. Where’s Freddie?”

Her eyebrows raise. “Freddie?”

“Yes,” I insist, voice steadier now. “Freddie… he should be here.”

Mom exhales sharply and exchanges a quick glance with Dad. He’s standing behind her, calm as ever, hand resting on her shoulder. “Y/N… you had an accident,” he says gently. “It’s… complicated. Freddie—he’s not…”

I frown, shaking my head. “He’s supposed to be here. We… we were together, right?”

Mom’s lips press together. “Honey… you’ve been unconscious for days. Some things… have changed.”

I feel my chest tighten. Change? I can’t grasp it, but the thought that Freddie isn’t with me feels wrong. Safe. Familiar. The world I know is slipping.

Then I notice him.

Rafe Cameron. Standing quietly at the end of the hospital room, hands tucked into his pockets. His usual confident posture is softened — shoulders slightly rounded, eyes fixed on me with something that catches my chest in a tight grip. He says nothing, just watches.

Mom stiffens. “Rafe, that’s enough for now.”

“I just… wanted to make sure she’s okay,” he murmurs, voice low and steady.

“You’ve done enough,” Topper says sharply, stepping forward. I hadn’t noticed him until now, sitting near the door, arms crossed, jaw tight. “She doesn’t need confusion.”

Rafe glances at him, then back at me, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “Right,” he whispers, and leans back against the wall, silent.

I glance from Rafe to Topper to my mom and dad, heart pounding. “What… what’s happening? Why is everyone acting like I—”

“Y/N,” Dad interrupts softly, crouching beside me, hand on mine. “You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get you home, okay? Then we can explain.”

The word home feels warm and familiar, but my stomach twists. Something about Rafe… about the way he’s standing there, watching me like I belong to him, makes me feel… unsettled.

Topper leans down, voice quiet. “It’s okay. Just… don’t let it overwhelm you. We’ll help you figure it out.”

I nod slowly, still trying to hold onto the certainty that Freddie is the one who should be here — the person I’ve been waiting for, the person I know.

But deep down, beneath the fog, there’s a tug I can’t explain. A pull toward Rafe. Something familiar. Something… mine.

And even though my head says Freddie, my heart — my heart is already remembering him.

The Thornton house smells like cedar and salt air, familiar yet strangely foreign. Mom hovers behind me as I step inside, fussing with my bag and adjusting my hair. “Careful now,” she says. “You’ve been through so much.”

Dad walks beside me, calm and steady, a hand brushing my shoulder in reassurance. “Let’s get you settled. Take it slow.”

Topper follows a step behind, arms crossed. His gaze flicks to the driveway, sharp and watchful. I don’t know why until I notice the familiar figure leaning against the front railing: Rafe Cameron.

He’s quiet, hands in his pockets, just watching. There’s no movement, no words — just that steady, piercing gaze. My chest tightens.

I turn to Topper. “Why is he here?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. When he does, it’s low, careful. “He’s… concerned. But don’t let him push. Not yet.”

I frown, confused. Push? What does he mean?

Before I can ask, the doorbell rings. Mom hurries to answer, and there he is. Freddie Calloway, smiling like nothing has changed, standing there with effortless charm.

“Y/N,” he says warmly, stepping inside as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You feeling okay?”

I breathe out, relief washing over me. “Freddie,” I whisper, and for a moment, the world seems right. Familiar. Safe. This is how it’s supposed to be.

Mom hovers behind him, a soft smile tugging at her lips. Dad gives me a small nod, trying to hide the unease. Topper’s jaw tightens, eyes flicking to Rafe, who remains outside, silent but unwavering.

The day passes in a blur. Lunch on the porch, a walk along the sand — Freddie’s hand brushes mine occasionally, and I instinctively squeeze back. Comfort. Normalcy. Everything I think I know.

And yet… tiny flashes start.

A laugh — not Freddie’s, not anyone’s I can name — warm, teasing, like sunlight glinting off the waves. A fleeting memory of a touch on my arm, gentle but familiar. A quiet voice murmuring something only my heart understands.

I pull the anchor pendant from my pocket, holding it tightly. Rafe gave it to me, though I don’t remember. My fingers feel its weight, and an inexplicable ache twists in my chest.

Topper notices. “Careful with that,” he mutters under his breath. “It’s… going to stir things up.”

I stare at the pendant, my mind spinning. Even though I believe Freddie is mine, even though I’ve convinced myself this is the life I remember, something deep down is stirring — something that belongs to Rafe.

And outside, on the porch railing, Rafe’s eyes never leave me.

The morning sunlight spills across the porch as Freddie pours me a cup of coffee. His smile is polished, familiar, and I cling to it like a lifeline. This feels safe — like the life I remember.

“You’re looking better today,” Freddie says, handing me the mug. “Still a little pale, but… getting there.”

I smile, sipping the coffee. “Thanks. I feel… okay.”

Topper leans against the railing nearby, arms crossed, watching like a hawk. His jaw is tight, eyes flicking between me and Freddie. I notice it and roll my eyes. “Topper… why do you look like you’re ready to bite him?”

He smirks faintly. “Because I remember what he did to you.”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

Topper’s expression hardens. “You had just turned eighteen. He broke your heart. You don’t remember it, but I do. I saw you cry for weeks. And now he comes back acting like nothing happened. I don’t trust him with you, Y/N. Not like this.”

My chest twists, partly in confusion, partly in understanding. “I… I don’t remember any of that,” I admit quietly.

“I know,” Topper says, softening slightly. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure you don’t get hurt again. You’ve got Rafe, Y/N. You know that guy. You know how good he is to you.”

I glance toward the driveway. Sure enough, Rafe is there, leaning against the railing by the oak tree. Silent, patient, steady. Watching me. His presence tugs at something inside me — a spark, a fragment of memory I can’t place.

“You see him?” Topper asks. “That’s your guy. The one who’s been there through everything. Who actually changed for you. Who loves you the right way.”

I frown. “I… I don’t know. Freddie feels… safe. Familiar. This is what I remember.”

Topper leans closer, voice low, insistent. “Y/N, those memories aren’t real anymore. They’re from the past. You’ve grown since then. You’ve lived five years with Rafe. He’s been your partner in all the ways Freddie never could be. I’ve watched him, Y/N. I’ve watched him change for you, fight for you. You need to remember that — even if your brain doesn’t want to.”

I pull the anchor pendant from my pocket, holding it tightly. Something about it resonates, a spark of recognition. Topper notices. “See? There it is. That’s him. Your memories are coming back. Don’t fight it.”

Freddie frowns. “What’s going on?”

Topper shoots him a look that freezes him mid-step. “You’re not part of this anymore. You hurt my sister once, and I won’t let you do it again.”

Freddie opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “Stop,” I say quietly, feeling a strange mix of frustration and clarity. “I… I need a minute.”

Topper steps closer, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. “You’ve got time. You’ll remember him, Y/N. Piece by piece. And when you do, you’ll know why he’s the one who matters.”

Outside, Rafe shifts slightly, just enough for me to notice. His eyes meet mine for a heartbeat, and my chest tightens. Something inside me says I already know him. Already trust him. Already… love him.

Even if my mind can’t catch up yet, Topper is determined to help me remember — and I can feel it.

The next morning, the sun spills through the Thornton’s windows, warming the living room where Y/N sits curled on the couch. Topper sits nearby, pretending to scroll on his phone, but his eyes are always on her, calculating, waiting for the right moment.

“You’re up early,” he says casually, though the weight in his voice makes me glance up.

“I… couldn’t sleep,” I admit. “Too many thoughts.”

Topper doesn’t comment. Instead, he gestures vaguely. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk down the pier. Fresh air will help clear your head.”

I hesitate, thinking of Freddie, who is probably waiting somewhere to spend the day with me. But something about Topper’s tone — patient, firm — makes me nod.

As we walk along the dock, the water sparkling below, my fingers brush against the anchor pendant Rafe gave me. A sudden warmth spreads through my chest. A faint memory flickers: laughter, a hand holding mine, a kiss that felt like home. I gasp slightly.

“Y/N?” Topper’s voice is low. “You okay?”

I stare at him, unsure. “I… I think I just remembered something… maybe.”

Topper nods, carefully restraining his excitement. “Good. That’s him,” he says softly. “Rafe. He’s your guy. Not Freddie.”

I glance down the dock, and there’s Rafe. He hasn’t moved. He’s still, watching from a distance, letting me come to him without pressure. My heart stutters, a strange pull I don’t fully understand.

Freddie appears, jogging down the pier, grin wide. “Y/N! There you are!” His hand reaches for mine, but I flinch slightly, a pang of confusion in my chest.

Topper notices immediately. “Don’t let him distract you,” he mutters under his breath. “He’s not the one who matters.”

Freddie frowns, sensing the tension. “What’s going on? You’re… distant.”

I bite my lip. “I… I don’t know,” I whisper, fingers clutching the pendant tighter. “Something… someone else… I don’t understand it.”

Topper steps closer, voice firm. “Y/N. Look at him,” he nods toward Rafe. “See him. Listen to him. He’s the one who’s been there for you, who loves you properly, who changed for you. Freddie… he’s your past. Rafe is your now.”

Rafe shifts slightly, stepping forward, and our eyes meet. A shiver runs through me — recognition, longing, something I can’t name. A memory flashes: Rafe laughing as we walk along this very pier, holding hands, feeling like home.

Freddie’s frustration grows. “What the hell is going on?” he snaps. “Why are you looking at him like that?”

Topper doesn’t hesitate. He steps between us, protective, steady. “Because he’s the guy who matters. You hurt her before, and I won’t let you do it again. Not now. Not ever.”

I feel a rush of conflicting emotions — guilt, confusion, longing. Freddie is familiar, safe, the boy I thought I loved. But my heart… my heart is remembering Rafe. Slowly, painfully, undeniably.

And Topper? He’s there, steady, guiding me — the bridge between the life I think I know and the life I truly belong to.

The days blur together — sunrises over the pier, dinners where conversation feels strained, the quiet hum of an island that seems to know more about my life than I do.

But the flashes are getting stronger.

Sometimes it’s a scent — salt air and cedarwood, the faint trace of Rafe’s cologne that lingers even after he’s gone. Sometimes it’s a sound — the low hum of his laugh, rough but warm, cutting through the fog of my mind.

And sometimes… it’s a feeling. A deep, bone-level comfort that hits me so hard I forget how to breathe.

It happens one evening when I’m walking the beach alone. The sunset stains the sky a fiery gold, the tide lapping at my feet. My fingers play with the anchor pendant again — always that pendant — when suddenly I see it.

Rafe, standing in this exact spot, wind in his hair, his hands cupping my face as he whispered, “You’re my home, Y/N.”

The vision fades as quickly as it came, but my pulse is racing. I can still feel the ghost of his touch.

“Y/N!”

I turn, startled, as Freddie jogs up behind me. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I just needed air,” I say, my voice shaky.

Freddie takes a step closer, reaching for my hand. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. You’re not… you’re not the same since the accident.”

Something in his tone makes me flinch. “Freddie—”

He sighs. “You keep talking about him. You don’t even realize it. You look at him like he’s still yours.”

My chest tightens. “I don’t remember him,” I whisper, though part of me knows it’s not true anymore. “I just… feel something.”

Freddie’s voice drops. “You’re mine, Y/N. You always were.”

Before I can respond, another voice cuts through the air — steady, sharp.

“Back off.”

Rafe stands a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight but his eyes soft when they find mine. “She doesn’t belong to anyone, Freddie. Not you, not me. Let her breathe.”

Freddie laughs, but it’s bitter. “You really think she’s going to remember your version of things?”

Topper appears a second later, coming down the beach from behind. His tone leaves no room for argument. “Enough. Both of you.” He looks at Freddie with a glare that could kill. “You hurt her once. You don’t get another shot.”

Freddie opens his mouth, but Topper steps forward, towering, protective. “Get out of here before I make you.”

Freddie huffs, eyes flicking toward me. “You’ll remember, Y/N. You’ll remember who you really loved.”

And then he’s gone, his figure fading into the darkening shoreline.

Silence settles — heavy but somehow peaceful.

Rafe stays where he is, giving me space. “You okay?” he asks finally, his voice quiet.

I nod, though my eyes are wet. “I… I don’t know. Everything’s… jumbled. I see you sometimes — I mean really see you — and it feels like home, but it’s just flashes. It’s not enough.”

Rafe’s voice is soft, but his words hit deep. “It’s enough for now. You don’t have to force it. Just… let it come back when it’s ready.”

Topper places a hand on my shoulder, steady and reassuring. “You’re doing fine, Y/N. Don’t rush it. The truth has a way of finding its way back.”

I meet Rafe’s eyes one last time. Something in them feels like safety — a truth waiting for me to remember.

And for the first time, I want to.

The morning air smells like salt and wildflowers, a perfect OBX spring day, but my chest feels heavy. The anchor pendant hangs in my hand, warm against my skin.

Topper stands nearby, scanning the horizon like he’s guarding a fortress. “You ready to go for a walk?” he asks casually, though I know he’s trying to get me out of the house — and away from Freddie.

I nod. “Yeah. I… I think I want to be outside.”

The pier stretches before me, the water shimmering beneath the rising sun. And there he is, leaning against the railing, waiting — Rafe. Quiet. Patient. Watching me without a word.

I take a hesitant step toward him, and the world shifts. A memory surfaces — clear, sharp:

Rafe laughing as he tossed me onto the sand one summer night, wind whipping through our hair. The way his hand stayed over mine as we walked the pier, careful not to let go. The first time he kissed me — soft, awkward, perfect.

I gasp, clutching the pendant. Topper notices immediately.

“See?” he murmurs, stepping closer. “That’s him. Your Rafe. You’re remembering.”

I nod, a lump in my throat. “I… I think I am.”

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the morning air. “Y/N!”

Freddie jogs up, grinning, oblivious to the tension. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, let’s get breakfast!”

I feel my chest tighten. My memories of Rafe are strong — but Freddie still feels familiar. The tug-of-war inside me is dizzying.

Topper steps forward, protective, sharp. “Freddie, give her space. Now.”

Freddie frowns, his charm slipping. “What’s going on? You’ve been… distant. And what’s with the pendant?”

I swallow hard, unsure. “I… I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just… I think I’m remembering something.”

Freddie scoffs. “Remembering what? You don’t even know him. Remember us Y/N and all the amazing times we’ve shared!”

Rafe steps closer this time, calm but firm. “You’re not thinking clearly,” he says softly. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t let him twist your head.”

Freddie’s face darkens. “You think she’s yours? After all these years?”

Topper moves slightly in front of me, arms crossed, glaring at Freddie. “She isn’t yours. Not anymore. And you know it.”

I take a shaky breath, looking between them. And then… I say it without realizing it:

“Rafe…” The name slips out naturally, a spark of recognition in my chest.

Both Topper and Rafe stop, hearts beating fast. Rafe’s eyes widen, and a slow, almost imperceptible smile spreads across his face.

“Y/N…”

Freddie freezes, shock and frustration mixing on his face. “Wait… what did you just call him?”

Topper steps closer, voice low, firm. “Exactly what I’ve been trying to get you to remember. Rafe is your person. You know it. And you’ll see it fully soon enough.”

The pendant burns in my hand as another memory hits: us sitting on the dock at sunset, talking about dreams and fears. Rafe joking, teasing me until I laugh so hard I can’t breathe. The way he held me when I cried. All of it — five years of love, all rushing back in fragments.

And now I know, deep down, that no matter what Freddie says, no matter how familiar he feels, Rafe is mine.

Topper squeezes my shoulder gently. “You’re remembering. One step at a time. And I’ll be here the whole way.”

Rafe takes my hand, warm, familiar, steady. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back,” he whispers.

And for the first time since the accident, I believe it.

The sun has barely risen over Figure Eight Island, painting the pier in soft gold. I walk slowly, pendant clutched in my hand, trying to steady my spinning thoughts.

Topper falls in step beside me, quiet but alert. “Ready for today?” he asks.

I nod. “I… think so.”

Topper gives me a small smile. “Good. Just remember: he’s here for you. All of this — Rafe, the memories — they’re yours. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

We turn a corner, and there he is — Rafe, leaning against the railing, eyes soft and patient, just waiting. My chest tightens instantly, a warmth spreading through me that feels like… home.

I take a cautious step toward him, and suddenly I remember:

Laughing with him on this very pier, the wind in our hair.

Walking hand in hand, whispering secrets we thought no one else could hear.

The first time he kissed me, clumsy but perfect, making me laugh until my stomach hurt.

How he held me when I cried, how he believed in me when no one else did.

The memories hit in waves, overwhelming but undeniable.

“Rafe…” I whisper.

He takes a careful step forward, hesitating only a moment before closing the distance. “Y/N,” he breathes, voice low, rough with emotion. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

Before I can respond, a familiar voice calls out.

“Y/N! Wait!”

Freddie is running toward us, frustration written across his polished features. “You can’t just—”

“Stop,” Topper snaps, stepping between us, glare sharp enough to cut glass. “She doesn’t belong to you. She never did. And you hurt her before. Don’t even try again.”

Freddie freezes, but his expression darkens. “She doesn’t remember—”

“I remember enough,” I say firmly, heart pounding. “I remember him. Rafe. And… I don’t need anything else.”

Rafe steps closer, gently brushing my hair back from my face. His hand lingers, warm and comforting. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs.

Something in me gives way — all the fear, confusion, and lost time melts. I reach up, resting my hands over his, letting the warmth sink in. “I… I remember you,” I whisper.

Rafe smiles, a mixture of relief and awe. Slowly, carefully, he leans in, and our lips meet. Soft at first, hesitant, then urgent, as though the years we lost had all been waiting for this moment.

Topper steps back, watching, satisfaction written across his face. “That’s my sister,” he mutters under his breath. “Back where she belongs.”

Freddie stumbles backward, his composure cracking. “This isn’t over,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous, before turning and storming away.

I don’t watch him go. My eyes stay on Rafe, the man I’ve loved for five years, the man who has been patient and unwavering while I found my way back to him.

Topper comes up behind us, hand on my shoulder. “You’re okay now,” he says. “You’ve got him. And I’ve got you.”

Rafe tilts his head, smiling softly at me. “We’re going to be okay,” he says. “I promise. One step at a time.”

The Slytherin common room was alive that night.

Green flames roared high in the fireplace, charmed music pounded through the walls, and students lounged on leather sofas with bottles of firewhisky in their hands. Laughter echoed, shouts filled the air, and for once, you almost let yourself forget the storm Dumbledore had thrown you into.

Almost.

But then you saw him.

Theodore Nott stood on the far side of the room, tall and calm amidst the chaos, shadows playing across his sharp jawline. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t drinking, just watching—his icy blue eyes fixed on something across the room.

On you.

Your heart skipped, traitorous, but you forced yourself to look away. You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t want him. Couldn’t crave the boy who only gave you half-truths and silence.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You smiled at someone else.

Evan Rosier—smug, charming, with a cruel streak you usually avoided—was more than happy to oblige. He slipped an arm around your waist as you danced, leaning in to whisper something in your ear. You laughed, the sound brittle in your own chest, and let him spin you beneath the flickering green light.

But you could feel Theo’s eyes burning into you. Every step, every movement, every time Evan’s hands slid too low on your hips—you knew Theo was watching.

It wasn’t until you felt the press of a body behind you that you realized you weren’t imagining it.

Theo.

“Having fun?” he rasped in your ear, voice low, venom wrapped in velvet.

You stiffened. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he said flatly—but his hand was suddenly on your wrist, yanking you away from the crowd before Evan could react.

You stumbled after him, fury and something hotter bubbling in your veins, until he shoved open the door to an empty corridor and pushed you inside.

The silence out here was deafening.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, voice sharp, eyes blazing.

“What was what?” you shot back, yanking your wrist free. “Me dancing? Sorry if I forgot to ask your permission first.”

His jaw tightened. “With him? Of all people?”

You laughed, bitter and sharp. “What does it matter to you, Theo? You’ve made it perfectly clear—you don’t want this. You don’t want me. So why do you care who does?”

For a moment, he just stared at you, chest heaving, fists clenching at his sides. And then he stepped closer.

“I don’t want you?” His voice was dangerous, low. “That’s the problem, (Y/L/N). I do. And it’s going to get us both killed.”

The words punched the air from your lungs. You froze, heart hammering, as he loomed closer, until there was barely a breath between you. His eyes—stormy, furious, aching—burned into yours, and for one wild second, you thought he was going to kiss you.

But then—

The door banged open behind you.

Evan Rosier.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, a cruel smile tugging at his lips as his eyes flicked between you and Theo.

“Well, well,” Evan drawled, voice smooth and mocking. “Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Nott.”

Theo stiffened, his body going still as a coiled spring. His wand was still clenched in his hand, but he didn’t raise it.

Evan’s gaze slid to you, lingering far too long. “If you were bored, darling, you could have just said so. I wouldn’t have minded the competition.” His smirk deepened. “Not that there is one.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but Theo beat you to it. His voice was quiet, dangerous, the kind of tone that could cut glass.

“Touch her again, Rosier,” Theo said, eyes like steel, “and I’ll break your hand.”

The air snapped like a curse between them. Evan’s smirk faltered just slightly, enough for you to catch it, but he quickly recovered with a mocking bow.

“As you wish,” he said smoothly, before slipping back into the common room, leaving the taste of venom in the air.

Theo exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath. You caught only two words:

Not safe.

But before you could demand what he meant, a crash echoed down the corridor. Shouts. The sound of glass shattering.

Theo stiffened, spinning toward the noise, his wand already in his hand.

And when the scream tore through the silence—high, sharp, and cut short—your blood turned to ice.

Theo grabbed your hand, grip bruising, eyes wild.

“It’s starting,” he whispered, voice raw. “They’re here.”

Theo’s grip on your hand was bruising as he pulled you down the corridor, away from the common room. Your heart thundered against your ribs, breaths shallow as shouts echoed behind you.

“What do you mean they’re here?” you hissed, stumbling to keep pace.

Theo didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, eyes scanning every shadow like he expected it to reach out and grab you.

The corridor twisted, leading back toward the Slytherin common room. You could smell smoke before you saw it—bitter, acrid, wrong.

And then you heard it.

Screams.

Theo yanked you into a hidden alcove, pressing you against the cold stone wall, his chest heaving against yours. You’d never seen him like this—wild, terrified, raw.

“They’ve infiltrated the castle,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His hand was shaking around his wand. “Death Eaters. They’re not supposed to be here, not yet.”

Your stomach turned to ice. “How do you know that?”

His eyes snapped to yours, something dark flickering behind them. He didn’t answer.

Before you could press him, a group of older Slytherins barreled past, green light flashing as curses flew down the hall. One shouted Evan Rosier’s name, and the pit in your stomach deepened.

Theo caught your wrist again. “We have to move. Now.”

“But—” you began, thinking of your friends still in the common room, but the look in his eyes stopped you cold. There was no room for argument. No room for anything but survival.

Theo pulled you down a side passage, deeper into the maze of stone, until the screams and shouts faded into distant echoes. Only then did he stop, his back against the wall, dragging in ragged breaths.

Your hand was still in his. You were too shaken to pull away.

“Theo—” you whispered, but his head snapped up, eyes blazing.

“Don’t. Not now.” His voice was rough, breaking. He looked like a boy caught in a storm he couldn’t control.

The silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid.

And then, without another word, he pushed off the wall and walked away, leaving you trembling in the shadows.

⸻

The next week was unbearable.

Hogwarts was buzzing with rumors. Dumbledore gave no explanation for the disturbance, only reassurances that the school was safe, but whispers of Death Eaters in the dungeons spread like wildfire. No one knew who to trust.

And through it all—you and Theo danced around each other like enemies circling a wound.

In classes, his eyes found you when you weren’t looking. In the common room, he sat too close, his shoulder brushing yours for a moment too long before he pulled away. Every glance, every touch, every silence felt heavier, sharper.

It built like a storm.

Until the night in the library.

You were alone, parchment spread out before you, quill in hand—but you hadn’t written a word in an hour. Your thoughts were consumed with his voice, his grip, his words in the corridor: They’re here.

When the chair across from you scraped back, you didn’t even need to look up. You already knew.

Theo sat down, shadows under his eyes, hair messier than usual, as if he hadn’t slept.

“I’m not in the mood to fight,” you muttered.

“Good,” he said, voice low. “Neither am I.”

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence.

You tried to keep writing, but your hand trembled, ink blotting the page. Finally, you slammed the quill down. “This is insane. If you hate me, then just say it. Stop with the—whatever this is.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Then what, Theo? You glare at me, you drag me away from Rosier like you—” Your throat caught. “Like you care. And then you disappear. You look at me like—”

“Like I’m drowning?” His voice cracked through yours, raw and unsteady.

You froze.

Theo leaned forward, eyes burning. “That’s what it feels like. Every time I look at you. Like I can’t breathe. Like I’ll destroy you just by wanting you.”

Your breath caught. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then—without thinking—you closed the space.

The kiss was fire. Desperate. His hands tangled in your hair, yours fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, like you’d waited years for this moment. The air around you burned.

But just as quickly—it ended.

Theo tore himself back, gasping, his eyes wide with panic.

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head violently. “I can’t—this can’t happen—”

“Theo—” you whispered, reaching for him.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. He looked broken, ruined, like the kiss had shattered something inside him. “If I let this happen, they’ll use you. They’ll kill you.”

And then he was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the library, leaving you clutching empty air and a heart that felt like it was tearing itself apart.

Theodore Nott x Slytherin Reader

Mentions of the Hogwarts battle, alcohol, smoking, death eaters

The castle was quiet after the Christmas break, but my chest felt heavier than the stone walls around me. Everything seemed… off. Theo wasn’t himself anymore. He barely looked at me, his smiles that used to make me melt now thin and cold.

I tried to ignore it at first. I told myself he was just stressed, maybe overwhelmed with schoolwork, or… I don’t know, life. But denial doesn’t last long.

By the third week, his distance had grown too big to ignore. Parties became his refuge. I saw him drinking, smoking, and laughing with people I didn’t recognize. Worse — with people I didn’t want him near.

It wasn’t just the drinking. Or the smoke. Or the way he shoved a different girl onto his lap at nearly every party. It was the look in his eyes — sharp, guarded, untouchable. And every time I tried to ask him about it, he snapped.

“Stop getting into my business!” he had shouted one night, his voice cutting sharper than any curse.

And that’s when I realized… I didn’t know who he was anymore.

I didn’t want to believe the rumors, but when Harry found me crying in the common room one evening, he didn’t ask questions. He just sat with me, letting me lean on him, letting me breathe for a moment. That’s when we heard it — voices around the corner, low but angry.

We crept closer. My stomach sank as I recognized them: Theo, Mattheo, and Draco. The words that slipped out made my heart freeze. Voldemort’s orders. Dumbledore’s name. A plot.

I stepped into the dim light, tears stinging my eyes. “So it’s true,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’re one of them now.”

Theo froze. His face went pale. “Y/n… I had no choice. You don’t understand—”

“You always had a choice,” I snapped, my voice breaking. “You just chose the wrong one. And I’m not going to stick around and support you if you’re going to choose him.”

Theo’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for me but didn’t dare. “Y/n… please. You don’t know what it’s like. I didn’t want this. I—”

“You didn’t want this?” I laughed bitterly, tears streaking my cheeks. “You’re laughing with them, drinking with them, letting them sit on your leg while I—while we—waited for the boy I thought I knew!”

He flinched at my words, but didn’t deny any of it. That silence… that was worse than an apology.

“I thought I could fix you,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I thought if I stayed, if I loved you enough, maybe… maybe it would be enough to pull you back. But you don’t want to be pulled back. You chose him.”

Mattheo and Draco shifted awkwardly, but didn’t speak. Theo’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I saw him — the boy I used to know, the one who had made me laugh in the Astronomy Tower and steal forbidden books with me.

Then he looked away, guilt and frustration warring across his face. “Y/n… it’s not that simple. I had no choice!”

I shook my head, stepping closer despite the tremble in my legs. “You always have a choice, Theo. Always. And you chose wrong. You chose power, fear… Voldemort. Not me. Not what we had. And I’m done trying to save you from yourself.”

His eyes flickered, desperate now, and I felt the tiniest shred of the boy I loved in that glance.

“Y/n… please. I can explain—”

“You don’t get to explain!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the corridor. “I trusted you! I loved you! And you threw it away!”

I turned sharply, unable to watch him any longer, unable to hear the excuses that didn’t matter. My chest ached with every step as I ran down the corridor, Harry’s hand brushing mine as he followed silently. Behind me, I could hear Theo’s voice — calling my name, pleading, cursing softly.

But I didn’t look back.

Because some things can’t be fixed. Some choices can’t be undone. And some hearts… no matter how much you love them… aren’t yours to save.

I ran through the corridors of Hogwarts, heart pounding like it might burst from my chest. By the time I reached Dumbledore’s office, my knees were weak, my hands trembling.

“Professor… I… I don’t know how to say this…” I choked, clutching at my robes like they could hold me together. “It’s Theo… and Mattheo… and Draco… they’re… they’ve gone to him… to Voldemort. They’re Death Eaters.”

Dumbledore’s piercing eyes met mine, calm and steady as always, but I felt the weight of my words crashing around us. “I see,” he said softly, his voice carrying that quiet authority that both reassured and humbled me. “You have done well to tell me.”

I shook my head, panic rising again. “But… Harry knows too. He was with me, but… we need Ron and Hermione. They should know… we should all go…” My voice cracked on the last word, and I pressed my shaking hands to my face for a moment.

Dumbledore inclined his head slowly. “Go quickly. Bring your friends, and then travel to the Order of the Phoenix’s safe house. There, you will be safe, and we will plan your next steps. You are brave to act so quickly, Y/n.”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening. “Yes, Professor. Right away,” I managed, my voice trembling but determined.

Harry grabbed my hand without a word, squeezing it as if to say, we’ll do this together. And somehow, that small gesture grounded me enough to run again — this time to gather Ron and Hermione, to leave Hogwarts behind, and to face a world I suddenly realized was far darker than I had ever imagined.

By the time we reached the fireplace, I could barely catch my breath. Harry was beside me, steady as ever, his hand brushing mine in a quiet show of support. I clutched the Floo powder, my hands shaking, knowing that once we stepped through, there would be no turning back.

“Ready?” Harry asked softly.

I nodded, though my throat was tight, my chest heavy. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The world swirled in green flames, and when it cleared, we were standing in the familiar warmth of my family home. The scent of roasted potatoes and cinnamon filled the air, but it didn’t calm me. Everything felt too fragile, too heavy.

“Y/n!”

I spun, and there he was — my dad. Sirius. Strong, familiar, real. The moment I saw him, everything inside me cracked, and I ran. I threw myself into his arms, sobbing like I hadn’t in months.

“Dad… it’s Theo,” I gasped between shuddering breaths. “He… he’s with them. Voldemort. He chose them… over me… over everything we had!”

Sirius held me tight, murmuring words I couldn’t quite hear, but it didn’t matter. Just feeling him there, letting me collapse into his chest, gave me a fragment of the safety I thought I’d lost forever. I pressed my face into his shoulder, my tears soaking his robes, my body trembling with a mixture of anger, heartbreak, and fear.

“You’re safe now,” he said softly, rubbing my back. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

I shook my head against him. “But… he—he’s gone, Dad. He’s… he’s not the person I thought he was.”

Sirius sighed, a sound heavy with both sympathy and worry. “Sometimes people make choices that hurt us, Y/n. Choices they can’t undo. And sometimes… we have to survive those choices. We’ll figure out the rest together.”

I nodded weakly, still trembling, still raw. Harry stayed nearby, silent but steady, letting me lean on my father while I tried to gather myself. The world outside was burning, and Theo… Theo had already made his choice.

6 Months Later



The war had dragged on relentlessly. Six months of tense nights, whispered plans, and barely-contained fear. The safe house had settled into a fragile routine, but the war never truly paused. Each day was heavy with whispered plans, muffled footsteps, and the faint echo of distant chaos. I had my tasks — training with the Order, helping wherever I could — but my mind kept returning to the same thought: Theo.

Then the news came. A rescue at Malfoy Manor the night prior. Theo, Draco, Mattheo, Enzo… and Pansy had been brought to safety.

When the rescued Slytherins arrived, I didn’t know how to feel. Relief warred with fury. Some of them had been loyal to Voldemort, complicit in everything that had happened. And yet, here they were, alive and free.

I pulled Pansy aside the moment I saw her, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Thank Merlin you’re okay,” I whispered, my hands shaking. Her presence grounded me, a flicker of normalcy in the chaos.

But when my gaze met Theo’s, every ounce of relief drained away. He was thinner, paler, exhausted, his eyes shadowed by what he’d endured. For a moment, I saw the boy I had loved — but the choice he had made, the betrayal, all of it, was still fresh and raw.

He approached cautiously, as if the ground beneath us were fragile. “Y/n… please,” he murmured, voice hoarse and tentative.

I stiffened, crossing my arms over my chest. “Don’t,” I said sharply, cutting him off before he could say another word. “I don’t want to hear it. Not now. Not ever, maybe. You made your choice six months ago.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” he began, desperation creeping in. “They… they forced me—”

“You always have a choice, Theo,” I said, anger and heartbreak lacing every word. “And you chose wrong. You chose them. And me… you left me behind. I trusted you. I loved you. And you threw it all away.”

He faltered, guilt written across his face, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw him shrink beneath the weight of it. But I didn’t soften. I couldn’t. My heart ached too much. My trust was gone, buried beneath six months of war, lies, and betrayal.

I turned away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my tears, and threw myself into the tasks at hand — the training, the missions, the relentless fight against the darkness. Each swing of my wand, each plan we made, was fueled by anger and heartbreak, the bitter fire he had left inside me.

Theo stayed nearby, silent for now, watching, perhaps hoping for a crack in my armor. But I had learned something important in the last six months: some love isn’t meant to save anyone. Sometimes, surviving is all that matters.

It was late, and the safe house had quieted down. Most of the Order members had gone to bed, the war still raging outside, but the walls here offered a fragile sense of peace. I was in the training room, practicing spells, trying to channel my anger and heartbreak into something tangible. My wand felt heavy in my hand, every movement fueled by the memory of betrayal.

I sensed him before I saw him — the quiet shuffle of footsteps, careful and tentative. My chest tightened, and I didn’t turn.

“Y/n,” Theo’s voice was low, almost pleading. “I… I need to talk to you. Just a few minutes. Please.”

I froze for a moment, my fingers tightening around my wand. Every instinct screamed at me to ignore him, to walk away, to shut the door on the boy who had once held my heart.

“I said don’t,” I said finally, voice cold and measured. “I don’t want to talk to you. Not now. Not ever, maybe.”

He stepped closer, the exhaustion etched into his pale, tired face. “I know you hate me. I know I… I broke everything between us. But I didn’t choose this. I was trapped, Y/n. They forced me into it. And these past six months…” His voice faltered, cracking with guilt. “I’ve lived with what I did every single day. I’ve… I’ve suffered. I—”

“You suffered?” I snapped, spinning to face him, my tears threatening to spill. “Do you know what it’s like to watch the person you love become… something else? To hear that they chose the side you despise most? I’ve suffered too, Theo. But I didn’t make excuses. You did.”

He flinched at my words, guilt sharpening in his expression, but he didn’t step back. “I know I have no right to ask anything from you. I just… I wanted you to know the truth. That I never wanted any of this. That I… I’m still me. The part of me that loved you… that part didn’t disappear.”

My chest ached. I wanted to believe him, I wanted to reach out, to close the gap that had grown between us. But the fire of betrayal and the weight of six months of distrust held me back.

“I don’t know if you’re still that boy,” I whispered, voice breaking. “Maybe he’s gone. Maybe I can never reach him. And I can’t risk myself on someone who made their choice before I even had a say.”

He looked at me for a long, painful moment. His lips trembled, his eyes shadowed with regret, but he said nothing further. He knew I wasn’t ready.

I turned back to my wand, to the room, to the bitter fire of my anger. He stayed behind me, silent, a ghost of the boy I loved. And in that quiet, I realized something: surviving this war — surviving the choices he had made — was going to take everything I had.

And even if a part of me still longed for him, that part would have to wait. Because for now, the war came first, and trust… trust was something I would not give freely again.

The days in the safe house blurred together, each one filled with training, planning, and whispered rumors of the battle raging outside. I threw myself into every task, every spell, every mission, not just to survive but to stay in control of the storm of anger and heartbreak swirling inside me.

The rescued Slytherins tried to reintegrate, awkward and tense, some ashamed, some defiant. Every time Theo passed me in the corridors, my chest tightened. He moved quietly, thinner and wearier than before, the shadow of the past six months etched into his face. But I kept my distance, my arms crossed, my voice clipped when I had to speak.

“You should eat,” Pansy whispered one night, catching me in the kitchen. She looked smaller somehow, but alive. That alone was a relief, though it didn’t soften my wariness toward the others.

“I’ll eat when I’m hungry,” I muttered, but my hands trembled slightly as I set the plates down. Her eyes searched mine, and I saw the relief there — relief that I hadn’t blamed her, not fully. “Thank Merlin you’re safe,” I whispered, pulling her into a brief hug before stepping back.

Theo was across the room, silent, watching. I didn’t meet his eyes. Not yet. Not now.

Later, during a planning session with the Order, I found myself paired with him for a defensive enchantments exercise. My wand hand shook slightly, not from the spells themselves, but from the memory of what he had become — what he had chosen.

“I…” he began, voice low, tentative. “Y/n, I know I don’t deserve this. I know I can’t ask for forgiveness. But I want to prove… that I can be better. That I’m… not the same person.”

I raised my wand automatically, defensive. “Then prove it to yourself first. I’m not your judge. I’m not your redemption. You made your choice. And you’ve spent six months living with it. Don’t expect me to erase it just because you survived.”

He flinched at my words, guilt tightening his jaw. “I… I understand. I just… I can’t stop trying to show you that I—”

“Stop,” I said sharply. “Stop trying to make me see anything. I’m not ready. And maybe I never will be.”

He nodded silently, the exhaustion on his face deepening. And for a moment, I felt a stab of pity — for him, for the boy I had loved, for the man he had become under the weight of choices and survival. But I pushed it away. Anger and heartbreak were my shields, and I would not let them fall.

That night, when the house grew quiet, I sat alone in my room, wand in hand, practicing spells until my arms ached and my vision blurred. The anger inside me burned, sharp and relentless, but it was mine. Theo could not touch it. Not now. Not ever.

And in the quiet, I realized: surviving this war — surviving betrayal and loss — would demand everything. And for the first time in months, I felt… ready.

The safe house was quiet, most of the Order members asleep or retreating to their rooms. I sat in the common area, curled into the corner of a worn armchair, my hands wrapped around a mug I hadn’t touched. The fire flickered low, casting long shadows across the walls, but they offered no comfort.

I sensed him before I saw him. Theo. Silent, careful, standing at the edge of the room.

“Y/n…” His voice was low, almost pleading.

I didn’t look up. “Not now,” I said, voice tight. “Don’t.”

“I need you to hear me,” he said, stepping closer. The exhaustion in his eyes was stark, shadows under them deepening. “These past six months… I’ve thought about nothing else but you. About what I did… the choices I made. I was trapped, but I—”

“You always had a choice!” I snapped, finally meeting his gaze. “You chose Voldemort over me. Over your friends. Over yourself. I trusted you. I loved you. And you threw it all away!”

He flinched at my words, guilt etched into every line of his face, but he didn’t step back. “I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I never will. But I want you to know… I’m not the same person. The part of me that loved you… it didn’t disappear.”

My chest ached, a mix of longing and anger, but I stayed rooted to my chair. Neither of us moved, our eyes locked, both silently weighing the hurt we’d endured.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in. His lips brushed against mine softly, a fleeting touch filled with all the pain, regret, and love we had carried. My body froze for a heartbeat — the world narrowed to that single, fragile moment.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine, and whispered, “I… I can’t—”

But I didn’t let him retreat. My hands shot out, gripping his shoulders, pulling him back in. This time, the kiss was fiercer, desperate, a mixture of sorrow and longing. It spoke of months of heartbreak, regret, and the fragments of love we hadn’t been able to let go.

When we finally parted, our foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. Silence stretched between us, heavy but charged.

“I can’t promise anything,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “But… I can’t let you go either.”

He nodded slowly, understanding, exhaustion and relief battling in his expression. “I’ll wait,” he said softly. “For however long it takes.”

The walk to Dumbledore’s office was silent, except for the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor. You could feel Theo beside you, tall, rigid, his jaw set so tight you wondered if he might crack a tooth.

You wanted to ask. To demand, what aren’t you telling me? But you didn’t dare.

Not when your heart was already trying to beat its way out of your chest.

When you finally stood before the stone gargoyle, Snape murmured the password and swept away, robes snapping behind him like a whip. That left just you and Theo in the tense quiet.

“You know what this is about, don’t you?” you whispered, unable to stand it any longer.

Theo’s gaze slid to yours, unreadable, sharp as a blade. He didn’t answer.

That silence told you more than words ever could.

The staircase spiraled upward, carrying you both toward the office. Toward answers. Toward whatever this was.

⸻

Dumbledore’s study was warm, firelight dancing off golden trinkets and shelves of books. The Headmaster stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes twinkling—but the weight beneath that twinkle was unmistakable.

“Ah. Mr. Nott. Miss (Y/L/N),” Dumbledore said softly. “Thank you for coming.”

You swallowed hard, stepping forward. “Professor… we didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No,” Dumbledore agreed gently, studying you both with unnerving calm. “And yet, sometimes it is not wrongdoing that draws us together, but circumstance.”

He turned to Theo then, gaze lingering with strange knowing. Theo’s posture was rigid, fists clenched at his sides, but you noticed the faintest tremor in his hands.

“I believe,” Dumbledore continued, “that the two of you may find yourselves… useful to one another in the coming months. There are storms gathering, and Hogwarts will not remain untouched. You both—” his eyes flicked between you, piercing—“stand at a crossroads. And I would rather you face what’s coming together, rather than apart.”

You frowned. “Together? We can’t even get through a Potions essay without nearly killing each other.”

Dumbledore smiled faintly, as though your words amused him. “Then perhaps you will learn.”

Theo finally spoke, his voice low, tight with anger. “And if we refuse?”

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened. “Then you will be destroyed alone.”

The words hung heavy in the air. You felt Theo tense beside you, saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard. For the first time, you saw something crack through his icy composure—fear.

“Professor,” you said carefully, “what exactly do you want us to do?”

Dumbledore studied you both for a long, terrible silence. Finally, he answered:

“Watch. Listen. Report what others cannot. There are… loyalties in this school. Dangerous loyalties. And I fear you two are uniquely positioned to see them.”

Your blood ran cold. He didn’t have to say the word Death Eater. It was written in every shadow of the room.

Theo’s jaw tightened, his eyes dark as midnight. You had no idea what was going through his head—but when Dumbledore dismissed you, his hand brushed yours on the way out. Subtle. Hidden. Almost desperate.

And you didn’t pull away.

⸻

The walk back to the dungeons was suffocating. Theo was silent, his expression unreadable. But you caught him glancing at you—quick, sharp, secret glances when he thought you weren’t looking.

By the time you reached the Slytherin common room, your nerves were raw. The firelight glowed green across his face as you turned to him.

“What the hell aren’t you telling me, Theo?” you demanded, keeping your voice low.

His eyes burned into yours. For a second, you thought he’d finally break—that he’d tell you everything.

But instead, he leaned closer, so close you could feel the heat of his breath against your cheek.

“I told you before,” he whispered. “This can’t happen.”

And then he walked away, leaving you standing there with your pulse screaming in your ears.

You didn’t know what was worse—the lies, the fear, or the way your body ached for him even as your mind told you to run.

And Merlin help you… you weren’t sure which of those things would destroy you first.

Theodore Nott x Reader

Mentions of cheating, heartbreak & betrayal

The days passed in a blur of routine you barely recognized as your own. You went to class, you sat with your friends, you studied in the library—but none of it felt real. It was all just movement, distraction, survival.

And always, always, you felt his eyes.

Theo never stopped watching you. He didn’t push as much now—maybe because the boys had warned him off—but he was there. At the edge of your vision, hovering just far enough to not be called out, close enough that you could feel him like a shadow.

Part of you hated it. Part of you… couldn’t stop aching for it.

It was a week later when he finally cornered you again. Not in the corridors this time, not in the library. This time, it was outside by the Black Lake.

You had gone there for quiet, for fresh air that didn’t feel like it carried whispers of betrayal. Pansy had offered to come with you, but you’d shaken your head—you needed a moment alone.

Of course, Theo found you anyway.

“(Y/N).”

You froze at the sound of his voice. He stood a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was a mess, his uniform rumpled, dark circles etched under his eyes.

You turned back toward the lake, jaw tight. “Leave me alone, Theo.”

“I can’t,” he said quietly. “Not until you know how sorry I am.”

Your throat tightened, anger flaring. “You’ve said you’re sorry. Over and over. Sorry doesn’t erase what you did.”

He nodded once, slowly, swallowing hard. “I know. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not today. Maybe not ever. But I need to show you… that I’m not the boy who made that choice. Not anymore.”

You turned then, eyes narrowing. “And how do you plan to prove that? By hovering? By staring at me until I break?”

Theo flinched but didn’t look away. “By doing whatever it takes. I’ll wait. I’ll fight for you. I’ll make every day proof that you’re the only one I want, the only one I’ll ever want.”

Your chest ached, fury and heartbreak tangling until you could hardly breathe. “Three years, Theo. Three years I gave you everything. I trusted you more than I trusted myself. And you destroyed it in seconds.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them back, your voice shaking. “You don’t get to just promise to fix that. You don’t get to break me and then decide when I’m ready to heal.”

Theo’s lips parted, his breath unsteady. He took one step closer but stopped, as if crossing that distance without permission would undo everything. His voice cracked when he spoke.

“Tell me what I can do. Anything. I’ll do it.”

For a long moment, you just stared at him—the boy you had loved with your whole soul, the boy who had shattered it—and felt the ache of wanting to believe him warring with the reality of what he’d done.

Finally, you whispered, “You can leave.”

His face crumpled, pain flashing across his features. But this time, he nodded. Slowly.

And for the first time, Theo turned and walked away.

Leaving you by the lake with the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears and the terrifying thought that maybe—just maybe—he meant what he said about proving himself.

You were getting better at faking smiles. Pansy noticed, of course—she always did—but she didn’t push. Instead, she and Blaise made sure you never walked into the common room alone, never sat at meals without someone on either side of you. Enzo and Draco distracted you with sarcastic jokes, Mattheo slipped you chocolate frogs when you looked like you might break.

It wasn’t healing, not really. But it was something.

“You’re stronger than him,” Pansy whispered one night when you confessed that sometimes you still dreamed of Theo’s touch. “And when you don’t feel strong enough, that’s what I’m here for. What we’re all here for.”

You believed her. Most of the time.

But then there was Theo.

He kept his distance, just as you’d demanded, but you couldn’t ignore what you saw. The way he left the library when you entered, not wanting to disturb you. The way he snapped at a boy who whispered something cruel about you, nearly hexing him before Draco pulled him back.

Or the way, one morning, you found your favorite book tucked neatly into your bag—one you had left in the common room days ago. Inside was a pressed lily, your favorite flower. No note. No name. But you knew.

And your heart betrayed you by aching.

One evening, you came back from a study session with Blaise and found Theo in the common room. Alone. The firelight painted his face in shadows, his eyes lifting the moment you stepped through the archway.

You froze, every instinct screaming to turn and leave. But your feet didn’t move.

He stood, voice low, careful. “I’m not here to beg. I just… wanted to say thank you.”

Your brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For letting me try,” he said quietly. “For not hexing me when I walk past. For giving me the chance, even if you don’t realize you are. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’ll keep proving myself until… until maybe one day I do.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced your voice steady. “Words are easy, Theo. It’s action that matters.”

He nodded, gaze unwavering. “Then watch me.”

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

Professor Flitwick’s latest assignment for Charms had been a nightmare for the entire Slytherin table. A paired spell duel exercise meant that you had to work with a partner—and, of course, fate had decided that partner would be Theo.

Your stomach dropped when your name was paired with his. You stiffened, refusing to meet his eyes. Pansy squeezed your hand under the table, a silent warning: don’t give in. Blaise smirked, whispering, “Have fun.”

Theo’s jaw tightened when he saw you glance his way. He didn’t speak, not immediately. He just nodded once, silently agreeing to the rules you’d made clear—you had no forgiveness yet, and he would respect it.

The first minutes of the exercise were painfully awkward. You barely touched his hand as you practiced the wand movements, neither of you speaking more than necessary. The tension between you was sharp enough to feel it crackle in the air.

Then it happened.

A misfired spell from a Gryffindor duo sent sparks shooting toward the Slytherin table. Without thinking, Theo leapt forward, raising his wand and deflecting the sparks in a brilliant burst of green light.

You froze, heart hammering. Not because of the spell—because of him.

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think about what you’d seen or the betrayal. He just moved, instinctively protecting you.

Your chest tightened. The action spoke louder than words ever could.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice low and careful, as the smoke from the misfired spell faded.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

He lowered his wand and gave you a small, respectful nod before stepping back, letting you have space. He didn’t reach for your hand. He didn’t try to touch your shoulder. He simply stood there, showing, not telling, that he would fight to protect you—even from danger you hadn’t asked him to face.

For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t dared hope for. Maybe—just maybe—he was beginning to earn it back.

But the wall around your heart didn’t fall. Not yet.

The days that followed were quieter than anything you’d experienced in months. The chaos of heartbreak had faded into a tense, fragile calm. You still avoided Theo when you could, and he still kept his distance, but the small, undeniable signs of his effort were impossible to ignore.

It started with gestures. A book you’d been looking for left on your desk, a note tucked inside with nothing more than a carefully pressed flower. The library became a little less suffocating when you noticed him subtly keeping distance yet lingering close enough to intervene if needed. He never hovered, never begged—he simply showed up.

One afternoon, Blaise and Pansy had insisted on studying with you in the courtyard. The sun was warm, and for the first time in weeks, you laughed, genuinely, at a joke Blaise made. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him—Theo—across the courtyard, helping a first-year with their wand. His gaze flicked to you once, a shadow of something you couldn’t name passing over his face, before he turned back to the boy he was teaching.

Your chest twisted. You hated that it made your heart leap, even briefly.

Later, a minor mishap with a charm in the classroom had left you vulnerable—your books scattered, quills rolling across the floor. Before you could move, Theo’s hand was on your shoulder, steadying you, his voice low and calm:

“Careful,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

No words of apology this time. No pleading. Just action.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering. A flicker of something—hope, perhaps—pricked at the walls you’d built around yourself.

But the hurt was still there. Three years of love, shattered in an instant, couldn’t be undone by small gestures alone. Not yet.

And so, the dance continued. You watched him, wary, unwilling to give him more than the smallest piece of your attention. He acted, silently, consistently, proving day after day that he was no longer the boy who betrayed you.

And though your heart fought you at every step, a quiet question lingered in the back of your mind: Could someone truly change? Could you risk trusting him again?

The answer wasn’t clear.

But one thing was certain. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The night air was crisp as you walked along the edge of the Black Lake, Pansy and Blaise trailing behind you. The full moon reflected off the water, shimmering like shattered glass—a fitting mirror for the way your heart still felt.

“You okay?” Pansy asked softly, her hand brushing yours.

You nodded, though the ache in your chest never fully faded. “Better,” you whispered, though even saying it felt hollow.

Then a scream shattered the quiet.

Without thinking, you sprinted toward the sound, Pansy and Blaise close behind. Across the other side of the lake, you saw a group of younger students cornered by a rogue enchanted creature—a runaway charm gone wrong, wild and dangerous.

Your stomach twisted. Before anyone could act, Theo appeared. Wand raised, eyes blazing with focus.

“Stay back!” he shouted, and with precise, controlled movements, he disarmed the creature, shielding the younger students. Sparks flew from his wand as he fought, and you felt your heart lurch—not from fear, but from awe.

When the danger was finally gone, Theo turned toward you, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice low and careful.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice, watching the way his gaze softened when it fell on you.

“I—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not yet. But I had to be here. I had to prove… that I’m not the boy who betrayed you. I’m the one who’ll protect you, always. No excuses.”

Your chest constricted. The sincerity in his voice, the courage in his actions, pierced through the walls you’d built.

For a long moment, you just stared at him, tears welling in your eyes. And then, against every instinct that screamed at you to stay safe, to stay guarded, you stepped forward.

“Prove it,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Prove that you’re worth trusting again.”

He nodded, heart pounding. “I will. Every day, if I have to.”

And for the first time in weeks, your chest felt a little lighter. The path back to him was long, dangerous, and uncertain—but maybe… maybe it existed.

The Slytherin common room was quieter than usual. Most of the house had gone to the library or the courtyard, leaving just you, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo. The fire flickered, casting golden-green light across the walls, illuminating the tension that had defined the past weeks.

You sat on the sofa, Pansy perched close, but your gaze kept drifting to him—Theo. He stood near the fireplace, eyes fixed on you, but there was a softness there now, a patience that hadn’t existed before.

“I—” he began, then stopped. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “I know I can’t erase the past. I can’t take back what I did, and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away.”

Your chest tightened. “I don’t know if I ever… completely will.”

“That’s fair,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “But I want you to see who I am now. Not the boy who made that choice. The one who’s willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel safe, loved, and respected. To show you that my heart has always been yours.”

The honesty in his eyes made your knees weak. Years of love, heartbreak, anger, and pain flooded through you, but beneath it all, a familiar warmth lingered—a reminder of why you had loved him so completely.

“I’ve watched you,” you whispered. “Every day… and I’ve seen your effort. I see it. I just… it’s so hard to believe that someone could change so much.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’ll keep showing you, every single day, until you do. I’ll never stop trying for you.”

You swallowed hard, tears spilling freely now. Slowly, you stood, closing the distance between you. “Then… maybe we start over. But carefully. I can’t risk being broken again.”

He reached for your hand, tentative but steady, and you let him take it. “Careful,” he murmured, echoing your own words. “Every step, every moment, I’ll be here. I’ll earn you back.”

And for the first time in weeks, your heart felt whole again.

Pansy and Blaise watched from the side, smiles soft and knowing, while Mattheo and Enzo passed quietly in the background, nodding in approval. The group, once fractured by betrayal, now seemed whole again, standing behind the love they had always supported.

You leaned into Theo, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you like he never would let go. Years of history, pain, and love wrapped into a single, fragile, perfect moment.

“Together?” he asked, voice husky.

“Together,” you whispered.

The fire crackled behind you, the warm glow reflecting on your faces. Outside, the night was calm, but inside, hearts beat fast with hope, trust slowly being rebuilt, and the promise of a future together.

And though the story of betrayal would always linger in memory, it no longer defined you—or him.

Theodore Nott x Reader

Mentions of cheating, heartbreak & betrayal

The Slytherin common room was alive with laughter, green flames flickering warmly in the hearth. Music charmed softly through the stone walls, and the scent of firewhisky lingered faintly in the air. You should have been laughing too, curled up next to Pansy on the sofa, Blaise’s arm draped lazily over her shoulders.

But you weren’t. Not tonight.

Your heart already belonged elsewhere. For nearly three years, Theodore Nott had been your world. He wasn’t just your boyfriend; he was your best friend, your safe place, the person who knew every scar, every secret, every piece of you. You had grown with him, fought with him, loved with him so fiercely that everyone whispered the two of you would end up married one day.

And for a long time, you believed them.

Until tonight.

You weren’t supposed to see it. You weren’t supposed to catch him. But fate, it seemed, had cruel plans for you.

On your way back from the library, books hugged tight to your chest, you had taken the shortcut near the east wing. That’s when you saw him—Theo.

Not alone.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of a Ravenclaw girl pressed close to him, her delicate fingers brushing against his shirt. You froze, every muscle locking as her laugh echoed faintly through the stone corridor. It was intimate, too intimate.

But Theo… Theo wasn’t pulling away. His hands were on her back.

The books slipped from your grip, clattering against the stone floor. Theo’s head snapped up, his eyes locking with yours, horror dawning in them—too late.

And then, as if the universe wanted to make sure the knife in your chest twisted deeper, he kissed her.

The world collapsed around you.

Three years of love, stolen in a single second. Every night he had stayed up with you by the fire, every morning kiss before class, every whispered “I love you” meant nothing now.

Your chest constricted, breath shallow, your whole body trembling as tears stung your eyes. You couldn’t run—you were frozen in place, forced to witness the boy you thought you’d spend forever with betraying you in the cruelest way imaginable.

“Theo…” Your voice cracked, barely audible.

He ripped himself away from the Ravenclaw instantly, face drained of all color. “(Y/N)—no, no, it’s not—please, listen—”

“Don’t.” The word shook out of you, sharp and final.

“Let me explain—”

“Explain?” A hollow laugh escaped you, bitter and broken. “Explain how you threw away three years in one moment? Explain how everything we built together meant so little to you that you could do this?”

“I made a mistake—”

“A mistake?” Your voice cracked, tears spilling freely now. “No, Theo. Dropping a glass is a mistake. Forgetting a homework assignment is a mistake. This? This was a choice.”

The clatter of your books still echoed faintly in the corridor. And then you heard it—a sharp intake of breath behind you. You turned, throat tight, to see Pansy and Blaise standing at the end of the hall.

They must have been heading back from the party, cutting through the east wing as a shortcut. The noise of your books falling had drawn them in—had made them witness the exact moment your world collapsed.

Pansy’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Blaise’s jaw clenched so tightly you swore it might crack.

Neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to. Their faces—shocked, betrayed, furious—said it all.

Theo went pale, as if the very ground had betrayed him too. He hadn’t just destroyed you. He’d destroyed the one thing that had held your entire group together.

By morning, the news had spread through Slytherin House like wildfire. Nobody said it outright at breakfast, but the glares, the whispers, the sharp silences—they all carried the truth.

Theodore Nott had cheated.

And worse, he had cheated on you.

You couldn’t face the Great Hall. Not today. Instead, you sat in the girls’ dormitory with Pansy curled beside you, her hand clasped tightly over yours as if she could physically keep you from falling apart. You hadn’t cried much—not yet. The heartbreak was still too jagged, too raw, sitting in your chest like shattered glass.

Pansy hadn’t left your side once. Blaise had dropped off food earlier and muttered something about “sorting Theo out,” his voice sharp and unforgiving. You didn’t ask what that meant. You didn’t want to know.

Meanwhile, Theo was a wreck.

He hadn’t slept. The Ravenclaw girl was long gone—he couldn’t even remember what she’d said as she scurried away, face pale with fear. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the hollow, suffocating look on your face when you’d seen him.

He had lost you.

But what he hadn’t expected was to lose everyone else too.

That night, when he entered the common room, the silence was deafening. Mattheo was sprawled across the sofa, Enzo leaning against the wall, Blaise perched on the armrest, Draco sitting upright with his usual perfect posture. Pansy wasn’t there—she was still with you.

All four sets of eyes turned on him.

Theo opened his mouth. “I—”

“Don’t,” Blaise snapped, his voice like a blade. “You don’t get to talk first.”

Theo froze, throat tightening.

Mattheo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes dark. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Any idea at all?”

“I know, I—”

“You don’t know,” Mattheo cut him off, fury simmering beneath his tone. “Because if you did, you never would have touched her. Never would have looked at another girl while (Y/N) was giving you everything.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, his hands shaking at his sides. “I made a mistake—”

“Stop calling it that.” Enzo’s voice was quiet, deadly. “You don’t trip and fall into someone else’s arms. You don’t ‘accidentally’ kiss another girl when you’ve been in love with (Y/N) for three years. That wasn’t a mistake. That was betrayal.”

Draco’s lips curled into something cold. “And sloppy betrayal, at that. You didn’t just humiliate her—you humiliated yourself. You’ve managed to lose the best thing in your life and drag the rest of us down with you.”

Theo flinched, his chest tightening painfully. “I love her,” he whispered, the words breaking on his tongue.

“Then you should have acted like it,” Blaise said flatly. His usual smoothness was gone, replaced with ice. “You don’t get to speak her name like that anymore.”

Theo looked around, desperate, searching for even a flicker of understanding in their eyes. But there was nothing—just disappointment, disgust, and anger.

The silence stretched, unbearable. Finally, Mattheo spoke again.

“You’ve lost her, Theo. And unless some miracle happens, you’ve lost us too.”

The words hit harder than any curse. Theo sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands as the weight of it all pressed down on him. For the first time in years, Theodore Nott felt completely, utterly alone.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel this hollow.

The past day had been nothing but numbness—Pansy glued to your side, Blaise hovering close, the others offering quiet solidarity in their own ways. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat, couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him—his mouth on hers, his hands where they didn’t belong.

Three years of love replayed in your head like a cruel joke. Every late-night walk by the Black Lake, every secret smile across the common room, every whispered promise that you thought would last forever—they all turned sour now.

The worst part? You still loved him. That made it unbearable.

It was late when you finally left the girls’ dormitory. The library was silent, rows of books glowing faintly under the moonlight streaming in from the enchanted windows. You wanted solitude, a place to hide from the storm of whispers and pitying looks.

But solitude wasn’t what you found.

“Y/N.”

His voice broke the silence, low, ragged, desperate. He stepped out from between two towering shelves, his hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept since it happened.

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself still. “Get out of my way.”

“Please,” he begged, voice cracking as he took a step closer. “Just… just listen to me. One minute. That’s all I’m asking.”

You clenched your fists at your sides. “You had three years, Theo. You had every single day to prove I was enough. And instead you proved the opposite.”

His face crumpled, anguish written across every line. “It meant nothing. I swear to you—it meant nothing. She meant nothing.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” you spat, your voice trembling. “That I was shattered over nothing? That you threw us away for nothing?”

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I’ve only ever loved you. Please believe that.”

Your throat burned. Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “If you loved me, Theo, you never would have touched her. You never would have looked at her the way you’re supposed to look at me.”

You stepped around him, your shoulder brushing his as you forced yourself to walk away. For a second, his hand twitched—like he wanted to reach for you, hold you, beg you not to leave. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Because the moment his fingers had touched that girl’s back, he’d lost the right to hold you ever again.

Behind you, his voice cracked through the silence, desperate and broken:

“Please, (Y/N)… don’t give up on me.”

You didn’t turn around.

You couldn’t.

Because if you saw the look on his face—the one that had once been your safe place—you weren’t sure your heart could survive it.

The next few days blurred together. You kept your head down, Pansy glued to your side like a shadow, Blaise always a few steps away, protective and cold. Mattheo and Enzo stuck close too—not that you asked them to, but you didn’t mind the silent wall they created between you and Theo.

Because Theo was still trying.

You saw him in the corridors, waiting outside your classes, his gaze never leaving you. You saw him in the Great Hall, food untouched, eyes only on you. You saw him in the library again, leaning against the doorframe like a ghost haunting your every step.

But you ignored him. You had to.

It didn’t take long for the group to notice.

The Slytherin common room was tense that evening. You were upstairs with Pansy, curled on her bed while she stroked your hair in soothing silence. Downstairs, Theo sat stiffly in an armchair, dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes.

Mattheo, Blaise, Enzo, and Draco were scattered around, their voices low but sharp.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Blaise finally snapped, his temper breaking. “She doesn’t want to see you, Theo. She doesn’t want to hear from you. And the more you push, the more you prove why she can’t forgive you.”

Theo’s throat tightened. “I can’t just… let her go. She’s my everything.”

Mattheo barked out a humorless laugh. “If she was your everything, you wouldn’t have touched another girl.” His eyes burned with fury. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her? What she looked like when she walked back into the common room that night? She was destroyed, Theo. You broke her.”

Theo flinched, his chest aching. “I know I did, but I—”

“No, you don’t know,” Enzo interrupted, his voice low and cutting. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t keep chasing her like she owes you anything. You think a few apologies will make her forget the way she caught you with that Ravenclaw? You think she’s just going to erase three years of love and trust you shattered?”

Theo’s hands curled into fists, his voice rough. “I love her.”

Draco’s eyes were cold, his tone cruel. “You don’t get to say that anymore. You don’t deserve to.”

Silence fell, thick and suffocating. Theo’s chest heaved, his jaw clenched, but he couldn’t argue. He couldn’t fight them—because they were right.

He had lost you.

And the truth that cut the deepest wasn’t just that you hated him now. It was that his friends—his family—looked at him with disgust instead of loyalty.

Mattheo leaned back in his chair, his voice quiet but deadly. “You should walk away, Theo. Stop chasing her. Because right now, all you’re doing is proving over and over that you’ll never be the man she needs.”

The words shattered him more than he thought possible. For the first time, Theodore Nott wondered if he hadn’t just lost the love of his life.

You and Theodore Nott had been at each other’s throats since third year.

Sharp words. Cutting looks. A silent war waged in every classroom, every corridor, every stolen glance across the Slytherin common room.

Sixth year only made it worse. The world was changing, shadows crawling deeper into Hogwarts, and yet you still found yourself paired with him—again—for Advanced Potions.

At first, it was the same. Snide remarks, deliberate sabotage, long nights where you swore you’d hex his smug face if he stirred the cauldron one more time.

But something shifted.

You started catching him watching you.

Not the usual calculating, sharp-eyed stare—but something heavier. His gaze lingered too long on your mouth when you bit your lip in concentration, or on your hands when you tucked a quill behind your ear.

And worse—you found yourself watching back.

The way his jaw tensed when he was angry. The way the candlelight flickered against the veins in his hands as he scrawled notes. The way his smirk never quite reached his eyes anymore.

You hated him.

You wanted him.

And it was killing you.

⸻

The tension snapped one night in the library.

You were both working late, parchment spread out, the only sound the scratching of quills and the occasional low sigh from him. You were too aware of the way his leg brushed yours under the table—whether by accident or not, you couldn’t tell.

When you finally shoved your quill down, frustrated, his eyes flicked up to yours. Sharp. Piercing. Too close.

“Problem?” he murmured, voice low.

“You,” you spat. But it came out weaker than you meant, because his gaze had dropped to your lips, and you knew he was thinking the same thing you were.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you thickened, thrumming with unspoken words, unspoken wants. Your chest ached with it.

But then he tore his eyes away, jaw clenched so hard you thought it might break.

“This can’t happen,” he muttered, standing so abruptly the chair legs screeched against the floor.

And he walked out.

Leaving you with your pulse in your throat and your hands shaking.

⸻

From then on, it was worse.

Secret glances across classrooms. Accidental touches in the corridor that lingered too long. Silent nights in the common room where your eyes found his, again and again, until one of you had to look away.

Every moment with him was suffocating. Every stolen glance set you on fire. And still—he kept his distance.

Until the night of the party.

Green flames flickered high in the Slytherin fireplace, music thrumming through the walls, laughter and shouts echoing around you. You tried to ignore him, tried to drink, tried to dance with your friends—but your eyes found him anyway.

Theo leaned against the wall, drink in hand, eyes on you like he was starving. Like he’d been starving for years.

Your heart hammered.

And then—he moved.

You didn’t even realize you’d slipped out into the corridor until the heavy door slammed shut behind you. Your breath came in sharp bursts, the music muffled, and then he was there—closing the space between you, hands braced on either side of your head, trapping you against the wall.

His face was inches from yours. His eyes burned into you.

“This has to stop,” he rasped, though his voice was shaking.

“Then stop it,” you whispered back, even as your hands trembled with the urge to grab his shirt and pull him in.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. You could feel his breath against your skin, his restraint snapping thread by thread.

And then—

“Mr. Nott. Miss (Y/L/N).”

Professor Snape’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

You froze. Theo’s jaw tightened, his hand fisting against the wall beside your head.

Snape’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered too long on the two of you, too sharp, too knowing.

“The Headmaster will want to see you both,” he said smoothly. “Now.”

Your blood turned to ice. Theo’s face drained of color.

And as you followed Snape down the dark corridor, Theo brushed your hand with his—just barely, so no one else would see.

It was enough to tell you one thing: