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hayleygrrr · 9 days ago

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fml (a Manchild by Sabrina Carpenter inspired fic)

you rope theo into going to a party with you and accidentally fall for his juvenile mannerisms (theo nott x ravenclaw!reader)

a/n - decided to polish this up and publish it in honour of the man's best friend announcement!! I know how controversial the title and cover art has been but i have Thoughts about it if anyone wants to hear them/discuss hehe (I rlly need to stop using this as my sabrina sideblog help) also lets pretend u can actually see shit from alllll the way up in the Ravenclaw towers and the 'decent' joke is (quite obviously) plagiarised from tumblr I think, I did not come up with that lmao

tropes/warnings - fluff, comedy, technicallyyy fake dating? but it's not the focus here

word count - 3.7k

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167

Theo pushed his hair off his clammy forehead for the hundredth time that morning. He was long overdue for a haircut he kept forgetting about except on mornings like these, when his overly long fringe kept falling in his eyes during the laps he ran with the rest of the Quidditch team around the perimeter of the pitch. It was barely 9 am when most students were still enjoying breakfast. It was far too early for him to already be sweating buckets.

Theo slowed to a stop, pushing his hair back once again as he seriously considered ripping it from his skull. He scanned the pitch. It was barely 9 am, and he could hear the usual faint murmur of students having breakfast in the Great Hall. There was a diffused quality to the light of the cloudy day and the grass was still damp with morning dew. It was peaceful. Typical. Calm.

And yet.

Theo looked around, an uneasy feeling in his gut. Something felt...off. He gently rolled out the ankle he had strained last week, starining his ears. It felt fine. It didn't even ache from the humidity of the morning. He watched his teammates jogging along the other side of the field. The pitch was quiet, but no quieter than it usually was. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the way they did in Quidditch games when he would sense rather than see a Bludger coming his way.

Mattheo jogged past, pausing briefly.

"Ankle?" he asked breathlessly.

Theo shook his head mutely, still thinking hard to the sound of Mattheo's panting as he caught his breath. Just as he gave up on figuring out the strange feeling, he noticed Mattheo frowning at something over his shoulder.

Theo was beginning to hear a set of quick, light footsteps distinct from the rest of the team's sluggish yet relentless footfalls. He turned and immediately got barrelled over by a blur of white and navy blue, knocked flat on his back with a tongue stuck down his throat.

Blinding sunlight rushed in as the figure pulled away. Dazed, Theo was distantly aware of Mattheo gawking at the sight while someone told him off in a waspish tone. He regained his wits just as Mattheo jogged off, sniggering under his breath. Tentatively, he turned his sight to the Ravenclaw girl peering down at him.

"If anyone asks, we were celebrating our 1-month anniversary last night."

Theo shut his eyes briefly, willing himself not to pass out. There was an awful ringing echoing in his skull. Was this what a concussion felt like? And what was that about a one-month -

His eyes popped open despite the searing pain. "Month?"

The girl gave him an impatient look. "Yes. As far as anyone is concerned, we've been dating for the past month."

Theo gaped at you. He had to be hallucinating. How much pain medication did he take last night?

"We have?"

Her lips thinned into a line.

"I can't tell if you're being purposefully dense," she muttered, sitting back on her heels. Theo propped himself up on skinned elbows.

"You, and I," her silhouette repeated, stabbing a finger between the two of you, "one month."

Theo squinted up at her through the sunlight she wasn't blocking. "W-"

"One. Month." she repeated firmly as she stood, brushing imaginary dirt off her pants. She scanned the pitch casually, appraising the rest of the team with a mildly critical look.

"That is all. Enjoy your laps."

Theo watched her walk off back to the castle, befuddled.

After feeding Madam Pomfrey some fib about running laps the wrong way, Theo had his elbows bandaged up. He was barely in time for Ancient Runes and was too restless to pay attention. By the time class finished, all Theo wanted was to tuck into a warm, comforting lunch, even if it was a little early.

He walked into the Great Hall and there you were, like a bad penny, already halfway through a bowl of soup at the Ravenclaw table.

He visibly winced. You had the gall to look cluelessly concerned.

"Merlin, what happened to your elbows?"

Theo just about had an aneurysm.

"You," he forced out through clenched teeth. "You happened."

You looked genuinely surprised.

"Don't tell me you're still upset about this morning?" When Theo remained stony-faced, you rolled your eyes, turning back to your lunch. "God, that was so three hours ago."

Theo stared at you, speechless.

"Don't you think you owe me some kind of explanation?"

You glanced at your watch impatiently. "Fine. I've got 20 minutes before Transfiguration anyway. Sit down."

He didn't. You cleared your throat anyway.

"So, I have this stupid roommate who will not get off my back about bringing someone to this 80s-themed party her cousin's hosting at Hogsmeade this weekend, because she's convinced I'm still hung up on my ex from 5 months ago."

You didn't sound like you were going to be done anytime soon. Theo reluctantly slid into the seat opposite yours.

"Are you still hung up on your - ?"

You nodded, waving a hand carelessly. "Oh, yeah, totally. The pining - it's a whole thing. Don't worry about that. Anyways, she was going at me again last night, and the only way I could get her to shut up was to say that I was bringing someone. So, obviously, she asked who, and - now this part is kind of your fault - and I looked out the window, and there you were, decked out in your Quidditch gear and whatnot, and I thought you were as good of a choice as any. So I said I was bringing you."

Theo blinked at you.

"You told your roommate you're bringing me to a party I'm only just hearing about."

"Mhm."

"And it's my fault," Theo continued tonelessly, trying to make sense of what you were saying, "for going to Quidditch practice...as part of the Quidditch team."

You shrugged. "Yeah, I 'spose. Anyway, she was like, no way, and I was like, way, and I knew she wouldn't believe me if I said we had only just started seeing each other, so I had to say it was, like, our one-month anniversary. But she was still watching me like a hawk, so I had to spend half the night outside of our room. And I think she could still tell I was lying - "

"Still? Are your lies always this elaborate?"

You looked a little embarrassed. "I might have a bit of a problem with...telling the truth, or the whole truth, sometimes." You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Anyway, I had to get to you before she did, but you both take Ancient Runes together on Thursday mornings, so I had to catch you before then, so..." you gestured vaguely. Theo raised his eyebrows.

"That's it? She's never seen the two of us in the same room, but my word is enough to convince her we've been dating?"

"Oh, please. She hardly sees me. I've got quite a bit on my plate."

Theo eyed your book bag, bursting at the seams with textbooks and parchment.

"I'll say. When do you even find the time to, er, pine after your ex?"

You shot him a withering look. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Right now? The person who didn't tackle me at eight in the morning."

You rolled your eyes. "I can't believe you're still going on about that," you muttered. "It wasn't even eight."

You continued eating your food while Theo mulled over your story. His mind drifted to your face, to the sharp, strong cut of your nose and the plain, straightforward edge to your words. You had a bit of a problem with the truth, there was no denying that, but something about your story didn't seem fabricated or exaggerated. It was a largely unappealing scenario that would only be too easy to refute, which made it all the more convincing.

Theo tilted his head. Huh. Maybe it was the concussion talking, but you were starting to seem a little less insane. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

"Why don't you tell your stupid roommate to pi- erm, go away?"

You glared at Theo.

"Stupid Roommate is my best friend. I would kill for her."

It was like he couldn't say anything right. Theo sighed, massaging his temples.

"...okay. What's stopping me from telling her I don't know you?"

You put on a pained look.

"Babe. You can't be saying those things about your one-month girlfriend."

"You're not my - "

"Besides," you continued, finishing up your soup, "we've been holding hands for, like, the past fifteen minutes."

Theo glanced around at the students filing into the Great Hall for lunch, some of whom were eyeing your clasped hands with interest. He yanked his hand away.

"So good luck explaining that to...literally everyone here." You stood, gathering your things. Theo marvelled at the resilience of your book bag when it didn't split open as you pulled it up to your shoulder.

"I'm off for Transfiguration. See you Saturday at 6."

And when you bent to press a kiss to Theo's cheek, he didn't bother leaning away.

Theo was staring into a mirror, hair slick with gel, trying to fix this cowlick that kept falling right in the middle of his forehead. Around him, chaos ensued.

Enzo was studying a retro muggle video game for his Muggle Studies project and, naturally, Mattheo had to screw with him as much as he could. All the while, Blaise was yelling at them to take their scuffle elsewhere, telling them off for crumpling the plastic sheaves of his good binder. Somewhere in the background, there was a knocking sound. Did ankle sprains cause tinnitus?

Empty weekends like these were always rough, but they were especially so when all four of the boys were cooped up together. The air outside was heavy and sticky with the week-long drizzle that refused to let up, making the walk to Hogsmeade downright unbearable.

Theo shook his head, separating his curls. The knocking got louder. It was definitely real, presumably by someone coming to tell them to keep it down. The cowlick fell stubbornly against his forehead once again. From outside the bathroom, there was a violent crash.

That was it. After multiple warnings and 'don't make me come over there's, Theo had finally reached the end of his fuse. He stepped out of the bathroom.

"Oi! Cut it out, all of you. Mattheo, give Enzo his game back. Enzo, go sit in the corner 'til you've calmed down. Blaise, get over yourself and get a new binder."

The thudding on the door increased in volume.

"And somebody get the fucking door!"

Theo retreated back into the bathroom. The noise immediately ceased. He sighed in relief. Finally, some peace and quiet.

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door.

"Theo, someone's here for you."

Theo fiddled with his hair, only half-listening. "Tell them to go away."

"It's a girl."

"Tell her to go away."

"Are you decent?"

Theo looked up at the sound of the striking voice. He had only heard it a couple of times, and never before this week, but it had the kind of piercing quality that made it stand out in a crowd. He glanced at the clock. You were 15 minutes early.

And too impatient to wait for a reply, apparently. The door swung open to reveal you, dressed in frills and ribbons with gigantic hair, carefully shielding your eyes, next to a shit-eating-grin-wearing Mattheo.

"Is he decent?" you asked Mattheo.

"Morally? Debatable. But he has pants on if that's what you're asking."

You dropped your hand. Your eyes swept his outfit. You didn't look too pleased.

"You're not even dressed yet?"

Theo looked down and scanned the very outfit you were eyeing disapprovingly.

"This is what I'm wearing."

He looked up and caught a glimpse of your face.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

You looked visibly aggrieved by his fashion choice.

"It's so...boring. I said '80s' and you thought black shirt, black jeans?"

"What's wrong with a black shirt, black jeans?"

"Nothing. Unless you're going to an 80s-themed party."

You stepped away from the bathroom's threshold while Theo frowned over what he had thought was a simple, perfectly acceptable outfit.

"This was the best I could come up w - yeah, sure. Go ahead. Go through my clothes. Turn my wardrobe upside down. Go right ahead. It's not like this is my room. Or my clothes. Merlin forbid I claim an inch of this space as m- "

"Are you done?" You asked, extricating yourself from the recesses of Theo's wardrobe. He couldn't tell if your hair looked more or less frizzy. You held out a frilly, powder blue suit Mattheo had bought him as a gag gift for his seventeenth birthday.

"No."

"Just try it on!"

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, please? I probably won't even like the look of it."

"Brilliant. Then what I'm wearing is perfect."

You gave him a look. "But I have to make sure that I won't like it."

Between his roommates and you, Theo's resolve was worn out. Grudgingly, he changed into the suit. If anything, his cowlick made him look even more stupid in this get-up.

"You look so much better," you chirped happily, approvingly examining the patterned insides of the jacket's pockets. "Don't you think?"

Theo narrowed his eyes at your too-innocent smile.

"I think," he said, "you're wasted in Ravenclaw."

"It's just one night, Theo," you continued, like you hadn't heard him. "I don't even have a camera or anything."

"But I do. Smile."

Theo was blinded by a flash from Mattheo's camera from behind you. He scowled at Mattheo, who was too busy pulling out the printed polaroid. He eyed it with satisfaction as it began to develop. "I always knew this day would come," he murmured.

Meanwhile, you doubled your wheedling efforts.

"Please? For me? The girl who knocked you down in front of all of your teammates and won't hesitate to do it again?"

Theo glared at you. "You're not helping your case, you know."

But you must have been doing something right, because five minutes later, he was waving goodbye to his roommates in the powder blue suit. The two of you walked up to the castle's gates into the Muggle car Theo had rented for the evening. As Theo turned the key in the ignition, adjusting his mirrors and seat, you reached over to fix his hair.

"Don't touch my - " Theo swatted your hand away, warily checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. Shockingly, his cowlick was gone. His hair was exactly how he wanted it.

"Long hair suits you. Did you know that?" you said, following his gaze into the mirror, in that assertive, know-it-all tone of yours, like it was a universally agreed-upon fact that Theo looked good with long hair. Grumbling, Theo shifted the gearstick into drive, turning down the road to Hogsmeade.

"Can I try?" you asked for the sixth time, perched on the boot of the Cadillac convertible. Theo pushed his fringe out of his eyes, feeling the back of his neck grow moist.

"I've almost got it," he replied from somewhere underneath the hood for the sixth time.

You rolled your eyes, fanning yourself with a magazine you had found in the backseat. Halfway to Hogsmeade, the car decided to sputter and choke to a stop. What Theo had initially diagnosed as a five-minute problem had grown into a twenty-minute problem and showed no sign of ending.

“I thought you said it was the carburettor,” you called out, already feeling sluggish in the heat of the setting sun.

“I said I think it’s the carburettor.”

You rolled your eyes.

There was a loud clang, a muffled curse, and an alarming hissing sound. Sighing, you abandoned your magazine and hopped off the boot. You came around the hood to see Theo shaking out his hand, like he had been burned, swearing colourfully under his breath.

While he had the sense to leave his jacket in the car, the front of his shirt was splattered with windshield wiper fluid. A rogue curl had escaped and was now sticking to his forehead. His collar had wilted in the heat, and half of his sleeves were probably crumpled beyond help from where they had been folded to his elbow.

And yet, infuriatingly, he still managed to look good. Good in that maddening, ravenous way where you couldn't decide if you wanted to ditch him on the side of the road or climb him like a tree.

Theo tapped at a knob tentatively with his wrench, dropping it when the knob sparked. You had to physically shut your eyes. He was so pathetic, so hot.

“I'm pretty sure I’ve isolated the issue,” Theo was saying, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Definitely a leak of the, erm, braking fluid.”

You fixed Theo with a look. You narrowed his eyes at him.

“You made that up just now.”

“Did not,” he replied, a little too fast.

“Did so.”

Theo frowned, squinting into the hood. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbled, picking up his wrench again.

You muttered something rude under your breath and pushed him out of the way gently, not that he resisted much. You pushed back your hair and studied the interior of the hood.

"See?" came Theo's slightly whiny voice from somewhere cooler. "There's too many fiddly things, it's impossib-"

You pulled out your wand. After a little trial and error, a few whispered spells, the engine gave a healthy sputter and purred back to life.

You stepped back and closed the hood. Theo blinked.

“Huh.”

“Huh,” you repeated mockingly.

You examined your watch and hurried back to the passenger seat. "Now let's get going before it gets too dark."

"Yes, ma'am," Theo said, climbing into the driver's seat.

You flicked his ear in response. You could see the smile biting into his cheek as he checked his mirrors, not noticing that his cowlick was back with a vengeance.

You looked out the windshield, watching the trees go by as you tried to ignore how you were half in love him.

The party was more fun than you expected. And it did feel a little less lonely having someone to drive you there and back, all the while patiently taking the brunt of your teasing. Theo took you back to the castle, walked you up to your common room with surprising stamina (he didn't run all those laps for nothing, then) and bid you goodnight.

And that was the end of that.

Only, you were realising, part of you didn't want it to end. Against your will, everywhere you looked, Theo kept catching your eye - in the corridors, on the staircases, in the Great Hall, on the pitch. It was his fault, really, taking up so much space with all that height. Taking up so much of your mind with all those lazy half-smiles and crinkled eyes.

A couple of mornings later, Theo was jogging laps on the Quidditch pitch again. His grey shirt was soaked in sweat, his fringe falling into his eyes. The early morning air had that familiar crisp edge and the rhythmic murmur of his teammate's footfalls. Theo slowed to a walk, wiping his face with his shirt, when he felt it - that same pricking at the back of his neck. That same unease. He looked in the direction of the Great Hall warily.

“Stopping so soon?” you called out suddenly, from where you had been watching him in the stands.

Theo startled so hard he almost tripped.

“Fuck - how long have you been there?”

"Long enough," you replied languidly, taking in the endearing rosy flush of his cheeks. You waved Mattheo's Potions textbook in the air as Theo walked towards you.

"You can't be doing that to people with already elevated heart rates," he scolded weakly, taking the book you were holding out to him.

You grinned. “Mattheo’s. Try not to get too much sweat on it.”

Theo nodded. "Thanks. I've been needing to level my bed with something."

You swallowed the smile that threatened to break across your face. Merlin forbid he realised you found him funny. You tried to keep your tone light, casual.

“So… what’re you reading these days? Anything interesting?”

Theo looked a little lost. “Like...books?"

You held back an eye roll. “Yeah, I guess.”

"Oh. I've been re-reading Gatsby lately."

You nodded. “Classic. You should tell me about it sometime, over coffee."

Theo’s brow furrowed.

“You've never read The Great Gatsby?"

You gave Theo a dirty look, unable to maintain your polite veneer. "Of course I've read The Great Gatsby. I just wanted to hear your take on it."

Theo stared at you some more. "You want to hear...what I think, about Gatsby?"

"Yeah, sure." It was almost insulting, really, of how disbelieving he appeared of your good, perfectly innocent intentions.

“Uh… okay?” Theo said cautiously.

You stood, partly disappointed, partly peeved. “Great," you said flatly. "Good chat, then.”

You turned away and started walking back to the Great Hall, kicking yourself. How much plainer did you have to make the invitation?

Theo watched you walk off, still a little confused. He jogged back to the pitch, resuming his laps. What was all that about? You wanted to hear what he thought about Gatsby? Not much, especially in comparison to you. He'd hardly have anything to contribute to the conversation that you didn't already know. Why, the two of you would be better off talking about literally anything else.

Theo stopped. The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

"WAIT - talk - coffee - yes, Y/N, YE- "

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hayleygrrr · 10 days ago

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the one with the runaway bride

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k (damn)

Summary: Sometimes running away from a wedding leads you exactly where you're meant to be — preferably into the arms of a much better guy.

A/N: These fics just keep getting longer and longer. again lowkey kinda hate this and i feel like i made theo heavily ooc but it is what it is ig

Theo hated churches.

He wasn’t particularly religious—never cared much for the belief in some higher power watching over them all. After all, if someone like that did exist, his mother—a devout, gentle woman—wouldn’t have been ripped from the earth so soon. It should’ve been his father, not her. At least, that’s what he’d thought as a boy.

Still, despite his aversion to anything even remotely sacred, he found himself sitting alone in the pews of a quiet chapel. The sun streamed through stained glass, washing the room in warm, fractured color. He didn’t believe in prayer, but he came here anyway. This had been his mother’s favorite place before she died, and somehow, being here made him feel closer to her—like she might hear him, if only faintly.

“Mamma,” He murmured, voice low, “sometimes I truly wonder what my future was meant to look like.”

The war was over, but the silence it left behind was deafening. He spent a lot of time now, wondering about his place in the world. He and the rest of his mates—Berkshire, Riddle, Malfoy, and Zabini—had played a crucial role, working as double agents under Dumbledore’s orders. But because their involvement had remained classified, carefully buried under the Ministry’s politics, they were still seen as Slytherins first. As former sympathizers. As a threat. Pariahs.

It stung. He had done the right thing, when it mattered most. And yet, he wondered if this cold reception was all he’d ever receive.

A few years ago, he hadn't even expected to live this long. His younger self had been certain he’d never survive the war—that he’d be killed for his betrayal of Voldemort and reunited with his mother much sooner than expected. But he had survived. And now, once again, he was adrift.

That’s why he came back here—hoping for clarity, for a sign. But as always, the silence answered him back.

He sighed softly, rising to his feet and tucking his hands into his coat pockets, ready to leave. His shoes echoed against the marble floor as he turned toward the exit.

But before he could cross the threshold, the chapel doors burst open with a loud bang.

Theo blinked.

A vision in white stumbled inside.

Satin, lace, curls escaping from a veil. Breathless. Flushed. A wild gleam in her eye.

His heart paused mid-beat as he recognized the chaos incarnate now standing in the aisle, clutching the skirt of her wedding dress like she’d just escaped a dragon, veil askew, bouquet long gone, and cheeks flushed pink like she’d run from hell itself.

His mouth opened before he could stop it.

“(L/N)?” The name left his mouth before he could stop it, soft and shocked and just a little bit disbelieving.

You looked up, startled — like you hadn’t expected to see another soul inside — and your eyes widened in delight.

“Theodore Nott!” You beamed, chest still rising and falling in heavy breaths, curls frizzing at the edges, voice giddy and strange, “Fancy seeing you here! Gosh, I haven't seen you since Hogwarts! How are you? And the others—Riddle, Berkshire, and the lot? All good, I hope.”

Theo stared at you in complete bewilderment as you keeled over to catch your breath, tugging off your veil and fanning yourself with it like some kind of deranged society lady.

“Merlin’s sweaty balls,” You gasped, dramatic as ever, “It’s impossible to breathe in this damn corset.”

“They’re good,” Theo said slowly, brow furrowed, “I’m sorry, are you in a wedding dress?”

You nodded, breathless, laughing like the question itself was hilarious, “Unfortunately, yes. Bit of a pity I didn’t realize I didn’t want to marry the sorry bloke thirty minutes ago. Would’ve made my escape a lot easier if I wasn’t drowning in fifty pounds of satin.”

He blinked at you, still speechless, hands deep in his coat pockets.

“I mean—” You barreled on, eyes wide and shining, “there I was, standing at the altar, looking at my so-called fiancé, and it just hit me: I cannot wake up to his sorry mug for the rest of my life. To hell with my parents. And society. I don’t want to be a Bulstrode. That name sounds like the arse-end of a toad, don’t you think?”

You paused, eyes narrowing playfully, “(Y/N) (L/N) sounds so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

Theo arched an unimpressed brow, “You know you can get married without changing your last name, right?”

At that, you absolutely lost it—doubling over in wheezing laughter, slapping your knee like he’d just told the funniest joke in history.

“You always were such a crack-up, Theodore!” You gasped between giggles, “Where are my manners? What brings you here today? Certainly not for the wedding, I hope—because, well—” You gestured at yourself, still panting in the middle of the cathedral, “you can probably tell that’s not happening.”

Before Theodore could get a word in, the sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Your eyes went comically wide as you pressed yourself flat against the stone wall, wedged just behind the chapel door as it swung open with a bang.

In marched your father—red-faced, sweaty, and breathing like a charging Hippogriff. His eyes locked onto Theodore like he was a bloodhound catching a scent.

“Have you seen a girl in a wedding dress?” He barked.

Theo quirked a brow, gaze sliding—slowly, deliberately—to the right, where you were doing your best impression of a human statue. From where he stood, he could see you mouthing frantic no’s, shaking your head so violently he was almost certain you’d give yourself whiplash. Your hands were flying in wild, desperate gestures, pleading silently.

He turned back to your father, the picture of calm.

“No, sir.”

Your father squinted, suspicious—but apparently not enough to question it. “Well, if you do,” He huffed, already half-turning, “you tell her to march her sorry behind back into that hall and marry the boy, or she’ll be sorry.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

You clutched your chest like you’d just survived a curse, eyes squeezed shut as you slid bonelessly to the floor in your crumpled wedding dress.

“That,” You breathed, “was nerve-wracking.”

You peeked up at him with a grateful look, “You’re a good liar, Nott. Thank you.”

Theo looked down at the breathless, sweaty heap you’d become, still sprawled on the stone floor like a very distressed meringue. With an amused smirk, he cleared his throat, “Well… good luck with everything, (L/N). Let me know if you actually go through with becoming a Bulstrode. I’ll send a wedding gift.”

You gaped up at him in horror as he began to sidestep the tangled mass of satin and lace that was your gown, clearly preparing to leave the chapel and abandon you to your doom. Without thinking, you grabbed his calf—your perfectly manicured nails digging into his trousers, the massive engagement ring catching the light like a cursed artifact.

“What?! You can’t go now! You have to get me out of here!”

Theo arched a skeptical brow, “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

You pointed at him in outrage, still clutching his leg like a deranged bride octopus, “You just lied to my father! That makes you an accomplice. A—A conspirator! You're already implicated!”

Theo looked thoroughly unimpressed, “I could just tell him you were hiding behind the door like a terrified possum.”

You gasped, “You wouldn’t.”

He tilted his head, “Try me.”

Panic glittered in your eyes before you straightened your spine and went full Slytherin, “Fine. You want to play that game? I’ll tell everyone you’re my secret paramour. That you seduced me, took my virtue in the belfry, and that’s why I fled the altar.”

Theo’s mouth dropped open, scandalized, “I beg your pardon?”

You clasped your hands together, expression softening into exaggerated, pleading sweetness, “Please, Theodore. I’m not asking for your soul. Just… apparate me out of here. One quick jump and I’ll be out of your life forever.”

He stared at you. Then sighed.

“Merlin help me,” He muttered, “You’re even more unhinged than I remember.”

“So that’s a yes?”

He offered you a hand, “Only if you swear not to mention the word ‘virtue’ ever again.”

You grinned, already taking his hand, “Deal, my paramour.”

He groaned. Loudly.

Theo stepped closer, one hand sliding around your waist, tugging you flush against him. You blinked up at him, stunned into silence by the proximity. Up close, you finally understood why half the girls in your year had harbored crushes on him. He had that kind of face—the infuriatingly beautiful kind that made your stomach swoop before your brain could catch up.

Then—with a sharp crack—the world twisted out from under your feet.

You landed hard against him, fingers fisting the lapels of his jacket like your life depended on it. Which, to be fair, it had.

Warm sunlight spilled over your face, the bustling sounds of the street around you cutting through the fading disorientation. You blinked. Then smiled.

You were free.

Theo watched you quietly as your eyes danced over every detail—the streetlamp, the baker’s cart, a child chasing a butterfly. Everything ordinary now seemed extraordinary through your gaze. You looked like someone seeing the world for the first time.

“Are you good, (L/N)?” He asked, low and cautious.

You didn’t take your eyes off the street. “A new world’s waiting for me,” You said softly, “It’s… terrifying.”

He didn’t say anything, but his grip around your waist didn’t loosen.

You stood there, trembling fingers still tangled in the fabric of his coat, heart pounding like it was trying to sprint back to the cathedral.

Theodore’s sharp gaze softened as he took in your messy lipstick, sweat-dampened curls, and the way you clung to him like the world had just tipped sideways. You looked like a woman on the edge of disaster—or greatness. Maybe both.

"Where were you planning to go?" He asked quietly.

You blinked up at him, dumbly, your glassy eyes beginning to sting as the reality of what you’d just done crashed over you like cold water.

Oh Merlin.

What had you done?

You didn’t have a house. You didn’t have a job. You didn’t have money of your own. Your entire life had been orchestrated by your father—who’d been all too eager to sell you off to your so-called fiancé—and you’d just thrown a wrench in his perfect little plan.

"I... I hadn’t thought that far." You admitted, voice barely a whisper as your bottom lip began to tremble.

Theo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, “Bloody hell.”

You started to stammer, trying to save face, “Look—I’ll figure it out. I just needed to get away. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t be dense,” He muttered, “Come on.”

You furrowed your brows, confused, “Come on where?”

“My home,” He said bluntly, “You’re clearly overwhelmed, and you need to breathe somewhere that isn’t a chapel or the middle of a bloody street. You can crash in the guest room. I’ll pour a cup of tea. Or Firewhisky, if you’re feeling rebellious.”

You stared at him, stunned silent, “You’d really do that for me?”

In all honesty, Theodore had no idea why he was doing this for you.

Maybe it was the way your eyes looked—raw and frightened—that struck something in him. He remembered that look. Back when his mother died. Back when he was stuck between two worlds, pretending to be loyal to the Death Eaters while secretly fighting for the other side. When the war ended, and he had no bloody idea who he was without it.

He knew helplessness like an old friend. And though he’d never admit it aloud, he also knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight if he walked away now—knowing you were out there, wandering the streets in a bloody wedding dress or dragged back to marry someone you didn’t love.

“Yeah,” He said finally, “I would.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking back tears, “Okay.”

“Okay.” He echoed.

He held your arm carefully—like you were a glass about to crack—and apparated you both away.

By the time your feet touched down again, you were standing in a warmly lit corridor outside a tall, modern-looking door. Theodore slid a key out of his coat pocket and unlocked it with a click.

“My flat.” He said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You blinked, glancing around as you followed him, “Wait. Don’t you have a whole family manor somewhere?”

He raised a brow as he tossed his coat onto a sleek brass hook, “Not fancy enough for you, darling? Would you rather go to the five-star resort your family booked for your honeymoon instead?”

You gaped, then closed your mouth, then opened it again—only to come up short, “Touché.”

He chuckled, pushing open the door, “I live in a flat because the manor’s too bloody big for just me. I might move back in when I’m older, but right now? No one needs twenty-three bedrooms unless they’re running a boarding school.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside after him, “Just say you’re rich and move on,” you muttered.

You were mid-sigh when your eyes took in the space—and almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders loosened. His flat wasn’t enormous, but it was stunning. Dark hardwood floors, rich emerald and charcoal accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the London skyline like a painting. The air smelled faintly of pine, leather, and something warm—like spice and magic.

Books lined custom-built shelves along one wall, and a record player quietly spun something soft and jazzy in the corner. A massive velvet sofa sat in the center of the open-plan living area, flanked by brass sconces and a few well-kept plants.

Theo disappeared into a side room, leaving you standing awkwardly in your crumpled wedding dress in the middle of his living room. When he returned, he had a folded stack of clothes in his hands.

“I grabbed whatever looked closest to your size,” He said, handing them over with a half-shrug, “Might still be a bit big—but it’s cozy, at least.”

You unfolded the hoodie and held it up. It fell nearly to your knees.

“You’re joking.”

“Or you could stay in your wedding dress. Very sexy.”

You let out a laugh, “You got me again.”

You eyed the clothes, then glanced back up at him, “You sure none of your… lady friends left something behind? Something a bit more...appropriate?”

Theo smirked, unfazed, “I don’t keep a lost and found bin, sweetheart. But nice try.”

You grinned despite yourself, clutching the clothes to your chest.

“Go on,” He added, gesturing toward the hallway, “First door on the right—bathroom’s there. Take your time. Come out when you’re ready. I’ll sort dinner.”

“You cook?”

He looked at you, mock-offended, “I’m Italian.”

“That’s not a yes.”

Theo placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury, “Wow. So little faith.”

You laughed—a real one this time—as you padded off toward the bathroom, the ridiculous rustle of your wedding dress trailing behind you. Hoodie and sweats in hand, feet aching, heart still thudding from everything you’d run from.

But somehow, in the warmth of this space, with the sound of jazz humming in the background and Theo cooking up dinner—you started to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

Maybe, just maybe… you were going to be okay.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the last remnants of your old life had gone swirling down the drain—hairspray, waterproof mascara, and everything else that once held you together. You felt… lighter. Your skin was clean, your hair damp, and the oversized hoodie you wore—Theo’s—smelled faintly of cedar and citrus. It hung down to your thighs like a dress, and the joggers were barely hanging onto your waist.

The scent hit you first—garlic, tomatoes, fresh herbs—and your stomach let out a traitorous growl.

Theo looked up from the stove, giving you a once-over before turning back to stir the pot. “Look at you,” He said with a lopsided smirk, “Didn’t think my clothes would suit you that well.”

You gave him a smirk and did a twirl to show off the outfit—just in time for the joggers to fall right to your ankles. You both burst into laughter.

“The elastic’s useless and the drawstring’s just for decoration.” You said, tossing the offending trousers over the back of a chair.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I charmed the pants off a woman.” Theo replied smoothly.

You snorted, shaking your head.

He slid a bowl across the island toward you—tagliatelle with a thick, rich Bolognese sauce, steam curling up like it had its own mind.

You took one bite, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my god,” You groaned, “This is… this is unreal.”

He gave a small shrug, “I told you.”

You were already shoveling in another forkful, “I haven’t eaten something that didn’t taste like sadness in months.”

Theo leaned against the counter, watching with amusement, “Easy, love. You keep going at that pace, you’ll make those giant joggers fit.”

You swallowed and let out a dramatic sigh, “Wedding diet. I’ve been living off steamed vegetables and heartbreak.”

He laughed, deep and full, “Well, lucky you. There’s more where that came from. And gelato in the freezer.”

Your head snapped up, “You’re kidding.”

“‘Chi mangia bene, vive bene,’” He said with a smirk, “‘Those who eat well, live well.’ My mamma drilled that into me.”

You blinked, then smiled, “Incredibly smart woman.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, your smile didn’t feel like something you had to fake or force. You sat there, in someone else’s hoodie, with sauce on your cheek and your hair still damp, in a flat that smelled like warmth and comfort and garlic.

Theo reached across the table, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth, “You’ve got a bit of sauce—right there.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness of the gesture. His hand lingered a second longer than necessary before he pulled back.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” He asked, quieter now.

You gave him a half-smile, soft but guarded, “Sick of me already?”

His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, “I just mean… are you sure you won’t regret this? People get cold feet. Panic at the altar. Happens all the time, or so I hear. And the longer you stay here—the more real this gets—the harder it’ll be to undo without fallout.”

You sat still for a moment, then set your fork down, appetite forgotten.

“It wasn’t cold feet,” You said, voice low, “I never wanted to get married.”

Theo didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“My father did. Desperately. He’s been obsessed with bloodlines and alliances since before I could walk. Marrying into the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Like that still means anything in this world.” You let out a bitter laugh, “Somehow that old bastard managed to squirm his way out of Azkaban after the war. And now he’s back to doing what he does best—peddling blood purity and ruining my life.”

Theo’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

“I spent months shoving my feelings down, just trying to be the daughter he wanted. The obedient one. Because what choice did I have?” Your fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie, “But when I was standing there—at the altar, staring down a future I didn’t choose—I realized something. Maybe I didn’t have choices before. But I could make one now.”

Silence stretched between you for a beat.

Then, softly, Theo said, “That was brave.”

You let out a watery laugh, swiping your sleeve beneath your eyes, “Please. Not like you, playing double agent for Dumbledore. Now that was brave.”

He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That was reckless.”

“It was noble. Valiant,” You said, voice steadier now, “Really, the kind of madness only a true Slytherin could be ambitious enough to pull off.”

Theo arched a brow, “Flattery? From you?”

You gave him a crooked grin, “Don’t get used to it. Mine was just… selfish. Desperate.”

He looked at you, the warmth in his gaze soft but unwavering, “It’s good to be selfish sometimes.”

You held his gaze, breath catching slightly when his eyes didn’t waver. There was something weighty in the silence—something soft and unspoken stretching between you, tugging gently at the space that separated your bodies.

Theo’s fingers drummed once against the tabletop, then stilled. Neither of you moved.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face, and for a second, just one second, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to close the distance.

Then you blinked, cleared your throat, and reached for his plate. “Well. Since you think it’s good to be selfish,” You said, trying to sound casual, “I’m gonna eat the rest of your pasta.”

Theo let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or a sigh. Maybe both, “Oi—at least leave room for dessert.”

***

Loud, boisterous laughter was the first thing that dragged Theo out of a half-dream. He groaned, arm flinging over his eyes as the unmistakable sound of his front door swinging open—without ceremony—hit him like a freight train.

“What the—who the hell is making all that noise?” He muttered, voice hoarse as he blinked toward the ceiling.

The culprits were, predictably, already raiding his kitchen like starved hyenas: Draco, Lorenzo, Mattheo, and Blaise, helping themselves to his fresh bread and the groceries he’d actually gone out and picked himself—because unlike those degenerates, he cared about food quality.

He should’ve never given them spare keys.

“For emergencies,” He’d said. “Only if it’s important,” He’d said.

Idiotic. Clearly, their definition of ‘emergency’ included hungover brunches and unsolicited early morning gossip.

“Morning, sunshine,” Draco drawled with an infuriating smirk, already sprawled across Theo’s sofa, eating the hand-picked strawberries Theo had searched three markets to find, “You’re just in time for the morning news”

Theo groaned louder and face-planted into the cushions, “Could you shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep in our own damn flat.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaise said, smirking as he rifled through Theo’s cabinets, “You must’ve heard by now. (L/N). You remember her—Pansy's roommate. She left Bulstrode at the altar. Just ran right out.”

Lorenzo let out a low whistle, “Left Bulstrode standing there like an absolute mug. At the altar, mate. In front of everyone. Just turned and walked straight out mid-vows. I mean—iconic.”

Mattheo, chewing thoughtfully on a stolen slice of sourdough, shrugged, “Serves him right. No way Bulstrode was ever gonna bag a babe like (L/N). He’s got the charm of a wet napkin.”

“And get this,” Blaise said, lowering his voice into a tone of mock-conspiracy, eyes glinting, “Rumor is—she had a lover on the side. Secret romance, hidden rendezvous, the whole nine yards. Some bloke she’s apparently been in love with for ages. No one knows who, though.”

Theo, face still hidden by the couch cushions, flinched.

Blaise squinted at him, “You look... twitchy. Something you wanna share with the group?”

Before Theo could invent an excuse, a sound cut through the room—soft footsteps padding across the floorboards.

The guest bedroom door creaked open.

You stepped out, bleary-eyed, rubbing your face with the sleeve of Theo’s oversized hoodie—his hoodie that hung off your frame like it had been stitched for you. Your hair was tousled from sleep, legs bare, the joggers you’d worn the night before still draped over a chair in the corner, clearly forgotten.

Theo’s eyes flicked up to you for a moment—heart skipping a beat at the sight of your flushed cheeks and mussed hair—but he quickly masked the softness with a cool, unreadable glance.

Every sound in the room died on cue.

You blinked at the kitchen full of frozen Slytherins and offered a sheepish smile, “Um… morning?”

The silence that followed was nothing short of reverent.

Mattheo dropped his toast. Lorenzo’s jaw unhinged. Draco choked on a strawberry. Blaise turned—slowly, dramatically—to Theo with the grin of a man who had just unearthed a scandal.

And then—chaos.

“No bloody way,” Blaise said, pointing an accusatory finger, “You?! You’re the lover?!”

“No, no,” Theo said immediately, sitting up straighter, “She’s not—I mean, it’s not— It’s not like that.”

You nodded, “It’s really not what it looks like.”

“She’s not—” Theo added, standing abruptly.

“We’re not—” You said at the same time.

“Dating.” You both finished in unison.

The pause that followed was only broken by Blaise’s slow, disbelieving laugh, “You two seriously rehearsed that or something?”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked from you, to the hoodie, to Theo’s bedhead and thoroughly disheveled state, “You sly, secretive little bastard.”

“You’re blushing,” Lorenzo cackled, pointing at Theo.

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re so red your freckles are blending in.”

“You lot need to leave,” Theo growled, yanking the mug out of Draco’s hand.

“Oh, we’ll leave,” Mattheo said, standing with an exaggerated sigh, “Just as soon as we finish processing the greatest plot twist since Dumbledore kicked it.”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo mused, “This might top it. Runaway bride finds solace in former classmate’s bed—”

“Spare room!” You and Theo barked at once.

“Oh right,” Blaise said, lazily gesturing to you, “Because that totally explains the no-pants situation.”

You threw up your hands, “He doesn’t have any trousers that fit me!”

Mattheo let out a low whistle, “Stars above, I wish I had popcorn.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, “She needed a place to stay. I offered. That’s it.”

“And I accepted. Platonically.” You stressed.

“And Theodore isn’t some adulterous whore,” You added with a sigh, “He’s just an unfortunate bloke with terrible timing who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The way your voice softened at the end made something twist in Theo’s chest.

“Well, you did good,” Lorenzo said, grabbing another slice of bread, “Bulstrode’s an ugly git anyway.”

You shared a glance with Theo who gave you a soft, barely there smile that was meant to reassure you in a way that conveyed, 'See? What you did wasn't so bad.'

“So what’s the plan now?” Blaise asked, eyeing the two of you over his coffee, “You two just gonna keep playing house?”

“Oi, ease up,” Theo said, casting him a warning look, “Don’t overwhelm her.”

He glanced at you briefly, then added, “We talked last night.”

“Ooo, pillow talk.” Mattheo smirked—earning himself a slap to the back of the head.

Theo rolled his eyes, “We were talking, and I offered to let her stay here. As long as she needs.”

You caught Theo’s eye and saw a softness there that only came out when he looked at you. In that moment, the chaos of friends and gossip faded away, leaving just the quiet promise of safety and belonging between you two.

***

You sat cross-legged on the floor, the open suitcase in front of you spilling out clothes, books, and a few small trinkets you’d brought from your old life. The boxes stacked neatly nearby were still untouched—silent reminders that this was real, that you were here now.

Getting your things back from your home had been easier than expected. You’d slipped in while your father was at work, your heart racing as you moved quietly through the familiar halls. The moment your hand wrapped around your wand—left behind for safekeeping during the wedding—it felt like you could finally breathe again. You packed up your life swiftly, shrinking and sending each box to Theo’s flat before you could second-guess yourself.

“It feels weird seeing all my stuff here.” You murmured, running your fingers over your old Slytherin scarf. A soft smile tugged at your lips as memories from Hogsmeade weekends and late-night gossip sessions filled your head. Back in school, your dormmates used to call dibs on the boys in your year—Pansy obviously claimed Draco, Daphne was hell-bent on Mattheo (she had a thing for bad boys, she used to say). The others squabbled over Blaise and Lorenzo, leaving you with Theo by default. You’d taken it in stride, because Merlin forbid you end up with Crabbe or Goyle. If only sixth-year you knew you’d one day be living with Theo Nott after bolting from your own wedding.

“Like this is really happening.” You said softly.

Theo leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite place. You let your eyes rake over him—how he somehow made jeans and a simple black long-sleeved tee look sinfully good without even trying.

“Don’t you want to unpack?” He asked after a moment, voice casual, “Make it feel a bit more like yours?”

You shook your head, teeth tugging at your lower lip, “I don’t want to get too comfortable. I need to move out soon, find my own place. Can’t just settle in someone else’s flat.”

Your eyes drifted to the empty dresser and the bare walls, imagining them filled with your perfume bottles, your shoes lined up in the closet, your keepsakes resting in quiet corners of the room. It felt… indulgent. And dangerous.

Theo pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room with that quiet confidence that always made your stomach flip. He crouched beside you, fingers brushing yours as he gently pulled the scarf from your hands.

“Don’t be so pressured,” He said softly, “Take your time.”

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, so at odds with the sarcasm he usually deflected with. His gaze held yours—warm, steady, unflinching.

“What kind of fake adulterous whore would I be,” he added, smirking just a little, “if I didn’t give you a comfortable place to stay while you figure things out?”

You let out a shaky laugh, swatting his arm as your cheeks flushed. The warmth in his eyes made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. It felt... safe. For the first time in a long time.

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long. Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded. And before you could stop yourself, your gaze flicked to his mouth.

The moment hung there—suspended and fragile—until it broke like glass.

Theo cleared his throat and pulled back. You dropped your gaze and fanned your burning cheeks, pretending not to notice the way your entire body buzzed with unspoken tension.

He stood, casting a quick glance around the room before his eyes landed on a box labeled “Bathroom.” With a quiet smile, he bent to pick it up.

“I’ll go put this over there.” He said, voice gentler now even though you both were well aware he could've used his magic to charm the objects in its place.

You watched him go, heart fluttering wildly in your chest, feeling strangely steady for the first time in days.

Strangely at home.

***

Watching Theo get ready for work every morning had become your newest, most humbling routine. In the quiet hours before he left—hair perfectly styled, cufflinks glinting faintly in the sunlight—you were struck with the growing realization that your life was a blank page. And not in the hopeful, inspiring way. No, it felt like staring at an overdue assignment you had no idea how to finish.

When he was home, everything felt a little easier—light conversation over breakfast, quiet companionship in the evenings, his effortless presence filling the flat with a calm you hadn’t realized you craved. But once he was out the door, you were left with hours that stretched out like an endless, silent ache. And with that ache came the inevitable realization: you weren’t here to play house with Theodore Nott. You needed to get your life in order.

Which was why, this morning, you were dressed. Not just dressed—put together. A soft, Chanel-inspired ensemble hugged your form, elegant and mature, polished right down to the glossy sheen of your lips.

Across the table, Theo sat in his usual tailored suit and tie, sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper.

He was a dream roommate—unbothered, polite, attentive without being invasive. He cooked most mornings and evenings, and you handled lunch and dishes out of principle more than anything else. And yet, no matter how well you split the duties, you still felt like a freeloader in silk pajamas. He never asked you to contribute, never brought up rent or groceries or anything at all.

Which, ironically, only made the guilt settle heavier in your chest.

It was unbearable. So this newfound spark of motivation—this desire to prove you could stand on your own two feet again—burned fast and hot.

He was fixing his watch by the mirror beside the door, running gelled fingers through his hair, smoothing it back with that practiced grace. You stepped over, holding his coat in one hand and yours in the other, and offered it to him with a quiet, “Here.”

He murmured a small thanks as he slipped into it, but you didn’t step back.

Instead, you reached up to adjust his tie, fingers deft as you corrected the slight tilt in the knot. “I know you’re just going to mess it up the second you get to the office,” you said, smiling softly, “but it’s driving me crazy.”

You smoothed the tie down gently, fingertips brushing the lapels of his coat. When your eyes lifted, you caught him staring—not at your eyes, but your lips, still slick with gloss from your post-breakfast touch-up, and suddenly it felt like a mistake to stand this close, in this kind of silence, with him looking at you like that.

You met his gaze. Your heart stuttered.

Was he leaning in?

Or were you imagining it—some cruel trick your body played when it got too used to his scent, his proximity, the low hum of affection that vibrated just beneath the surface?

Before you could answer, he inhaled sharply and stepped back, the moment snapping like a taut string.

“Busy day today?” He asked, voice neutral, composed.

You cleared your throat, recovering quickly.

“Yeah,” You said, grabbing your purse and your coat, avoiding his eyes, “I’m visiting Slughorn at Hogwarts. I was always good at potions, and he used to favor me—mostly because I always showed up to those ridiculous Slug Club meetings.” You gave a faint chuckle.

“I heard he’s still teaching and struggling to keep up with his personal research. I was kind of his unofficial assistant in seventh year, so… I’m hoping he’ll consider taking me on. As an apprentice or something.”

You kept your tone light, casual, even though your pulse thudded in your throat. You avoided his eyes as you adjusted the strap of your purse.

Theo held the door open for you, and your heart flipped in your chest like it always did when he did things like that without thinking—like it was natural. Like you belonged here.

“Good luck, (Y/N).” He said simply, his voice low but earnest.

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small smile. The way he was looking at you made your steps falter for just a second.

“Thank you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper.

And then you walked on, heels clicking softly on the marble floor, heart fluttering like mad against your ribs.

***

You practically skipped down the stone steps of Hogwarts, the weight of your nervous anticipation completely lifted from your shoulders. The crisp air smelled of old parchment and damp moss, and for once, you didn’t mind. Your cheeks were flushed, your hands clutching the letter Slughorn had scrawled in excitement after your meeting: an official offer to join him as his private research assistant, with the intent of training you to become a certified Potions Master.

Your heart was hammering by the time you reached Theo’s flat, and you didn’t even knock—just flung the door open and stepped inside, calling his name like a storm announcing itself.

“Theo!”

He appeared from the hallway, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly mid-way through drying his hair, shirt sleeves rolled up, “What? Are you okay?”

You beamed so brightly you could’ve lit the whole room with just the force of it, “I got it—I got the position! I’m going to train with Slughorn! He’s taking me on!”

For a second, Theo just blinked at you, frozen in place. Then your words seemed to register fully and he opened his mouth to say something—but before he could, you launched yourself at him.

Your arms flung around his neck, and he caught you with a startled grunt, stumbling back half a step before wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, instinctively keeping you upright. You laughed, giddy and breathless against his shoulder, your legs kicking slightly off the ground.

“I knew you would.” He said against your temple, voice low and warm and slightly amused, though the hug he gave you was grounding, solid, and real.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes bright, “I’m going to be a Potions Master.”

Theo’s hands stayed on your waist, his lips twitching into a rare, open smile, “You’re going to be brilliant.”

You didn’t know what possessed you then—maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the way he was still holding you like you were something precious—but you leaned in without thinking and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quick and full of warmth.

Theo blinked, stunned.

You blinked, too, realizing what you just did.

He slowly set you down on your feet, clearing his throat, but the faintest shade of pink had crept up his neck.

"Thank you, Theo." You whispered, looking up at him like he hung the moon in the sky, "For everything."

***

You were halfway through folding the laundry while Theo showered when the door flew open with no warning, the sharp click of heels on hardwood echoing like the cue for a dramatic entrance.

“Surprise, darling!” Pansy announced grandly, stepping into the apartment with a flourish, a pastry box in one hand and designer sunglasses in the other, “I brought macarons from that place you liked in Paris—Theo, you better be decent!”

She strutted into the living room expecting to find her best friend brooding over black coffee, muttering about case files or the Ministry’s latest idiocy.

Instead, she found you.

Her heel halted mid-click. Her eyes went wide, lips parting in stunned recognition.

“(Y/N)?”

You blinked, holding a half-folded jumper, “Hi—?”

The pastry box slipped from her fingers, forgotten as she gasped.

“(Y/N)!”

Before you could react, she barreled across the room, arms wide, heels thudding across the floor. She crashed into you with a hug that nearly knocked you into the couch, her perfume wrapping around you like a familiar blanket as she squeezed you breathless.

You laughed, arms wrapping around her just as tightly, “Oh God, I’m so sorry I didn’t make it to the wedding! I couldn’t get a Portkey in time—I felt awful. I’ve missed you so much!”

Pansy pulled back to get a proper look at you, holding you at arm’s length like she needed to confirm you were real, “Oh, how’s newlywed life treating you? How’s your husband—” she started brightly, then trailed off.

Her eyes scanned your outfit—comfy shorts and an old Quidditch tee—and then flicked to the half-folded laundry scattered across the coffee table.

And that was precisely the moment Theo stepped out of the bathroom.

Shirtless. Damp. Joggers slung low on his hips. A towel around his neck, his hair still dripping.

Pansy blinked. You blinked. Theo froze like a deer in headlights.

Her eyes snapped between you and Theo. Once. Twice.

Her jaw dropped.

“No. Bloody. Way.”

You swallowed hard, “I, uh... I ran from the altar. I’ve been living here for a month. Surprise?”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“You absolute plonkers!” Pansy shouted, whirling around like a furious peacock as the front door opened again and the rest of the boys filtered in—Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Enzo—all pausing mid-step at the scene.

Theo grimaced.

Pansy turned on Draco with fury, “You ranted to me for an hour last night about Potter’s work ethic, but you didn’t think to mention that one of my closest friends from school ran out of her own wedding and moved in with Theo?”

Draco’s eyes widened, “I thought you knew!”

“You lot are unbelievable.” She huffed, throwing her hands up.

Draco looked caught somewhere between amusement and panic. Blaise choked on a laugh. Mattheo raised his hands in mock innocence.

Pansy, eyes glittering with mischief, turned back to you with an exasperated scoff, “We’re getting drinks tonight. You and I are going to unpack every bloody bit of this madness. And if there’s any scandal you’re hiding from me, I swear to Merlin—”

You gave her a sheepish smile, heart fluttering with the kind of warmth that only old friendships could bring.

“I wish. But I can’t tonight. I’m working with Slughorn now—officially—and I’ve got my first full day tomorrow. Still need to study up a bit. I really don’t want to get fired before I even make it to lunch.”

Pansy’s features softened instantly. She stepped forward, cupping your cheeks with warm hands and smoothing your hair in a way that made your eyes sting.

“Slughorn?” She breathed, proud and a little misty, “You’re working with Slughorn? That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

Your throat tightened, “Thanks, Pansy. God, I missed you. Let’s do a proper catch-up this weekend, yeah? I don’t want to keep you from your homecoming party—you should go have fun.”

She nodded and pulled you into one last tight hug. “This weekend,” she warned playfully, “or I swear I’ll come kidnap you from this flat myself.”

You laughed, hugging her back, “Deal.”

Just then, Theo reappeared in the living room, now fully dressed and slipping his watch onto his wrist. He reached for his coat, but you were already there, stepping behind him to help him shrug it on.

“Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” You asked gently, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.

From behind you, Blaise gave a low whistle.

“Ooooh, listen to that,” Mattheo drawled with a teasing grin, “Wifey’s making sure the hubby gets to bed on time.”

Theo rolled his eyes, already used to these jokes and glanced down at you, a quiet smile pulling at his lips, “It’s just one drink.”

You sighed, half amused, half resigned, “Okay. Just… don’t come home completely smashed.”

“No promises.” He said with a wink, and the door shut behind them seconds later.

***

The bar buzzed with the low hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and a jazz cover of a Weird Sisters song playing over the speakers. The group had claimed a corner booth, drinks in hand, laughter spilling over every few minutes.

Theo nursed a firewhisky, sitting back with his usual composed expression which caught the attention of Mattheo, “Oh, don’t drink that too fast, Teddy boy. You don’t want to go back absolutely hammered to the missus.”

“You lot are ridiculous,” Theo muttered, though a hint of fondness softened his tone.

“Oh, come off it,” Blaise grinned, swirling his drink, “You like it. You’re practically glowing these days. It’s very unnerving.”

“Very domestic of you, Theo,” Enzo added, smirking, “Sharing a flat, cooking her breakfast, letting her steal your clothes—”

“She doesn’t steal my clothes.”

Mattheo grinned, “Mate, I saw her wearing your Chudley Cannons jumper yesterday.”

Theo looked away, clearly caught.

Pansy took a slow sip of her cocktail, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m shocked you let her stay with you. You’re usually so…” She waved a perfectly manicured hand, “emotionally unavailable. Allergic to company, really.”

Blaise leaned in, eyes gleaming, “I mean hardly a surprise considering how badly gone he was for her back in school.”

Pansy froze mid-sip.

“Wait—what? Who was gone for who?!” she gasped, nearly slamming her glass on the table, voice sharp with disbelief.

The boys blinked in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” Draco asked, brows raised.

“You’re kidding,” Blaise said, laughing, “You always shoved them into group projects and made them sit together during dinners — we thought you were matchmaking!”

“I was!” Pansy snapped, whipping around to glare at Draco, “Because I wanted to go with you, and the other cows in our dorm had already called dibs on Enzo, Mattheo, and Blaise. Theo was just—left!”

She turned back to the table, eyes wide with the horror of missed opportunity, “Don’t you think if I’d known he fancied her, I would’ve shoved them into a broom cupboard and locked the door?”

Mattheo cackled, “That’s so on-brand for you.”

Pansy groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto Draco’s shoulder, “You absolute wankers. If one of you had opened your mouth years ago, that wedding she had a month ago? Could’ve been yours, Theo.”

Theo sipped his firewhisky quietly, hidden behind the rim of his glass. Flashes of you in a wedding dress and veil flickered behind his eyes, a soft blush spreading across his neck. None of them missed it.

Blaise nudged Mattheo, “He’s thinking about it now.”

“Oh, he’s been thinking about it.”

Theo threw his head back, downing the rest of his firewhiskey in one go, “I need another drink.”

***

The door flew open with a crash, nearly coming off its hinges.

“We have arrived!” Lorenzo declared, clearly drunk, arms wide, as if expecting applause.

Theo stumbled in between Blaise and Mattheo, arms slung over their shoulders like a war hero being carried off the battlefield. His shirt was half-untucked, hair a mess, and his eyes—when he managed to open them—were glassy and unfocused.

You poked your head out from the kitchen, arms crossed, “What happened to ‘just one drink’?”

“He drank.” Blaise said simply.

“Like a fish.” Mattheo added.

“Like a moron.” Draco corrected as he strolled in behind them, tossing Theo’s coat over a chair, “He’s your problem now.”

Theo blinked at the sound of your voice and perked up immediately. “Tesoro!” He slurred, trying to walk toward you but very nearly face-planting into the floor. You caught him under the arm just in time.

“Hi, Theo,” You said softly, “Oh gosh you smell like bad decisions.”

“You need to eat,” You added, “Something starchy. Or you’re going to feel like roadkill tomorrow.”

“He never eats when he’s like this,” Blaise said from where he was sprawled over a kitchen chair, “We’ve tried. It’s hopeless.”

“Chi mangia bene, vive bene, remember?” You said softly, probably butchering his mother's saying as you guided Theo toward the table.

That stopped him. His gaze sharpened just enough to find your eyes.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours with a quiet breath, “E chi ha te… ha tutto.”

Your heart skipped even though you hadn't a clue what he just said.

Mattheo made an exaggerated gagging noise, “Okay, Casanova, wrap it up.”

Draco, grinning, gave you a mock bow, “He’s all yours. Good luck with drunk Shakespeare.”

As the door shut behind them, Theo was still leaning on you, breathing you in like he needed your scent to stay upright.

“You smell like a distillery.” You said, amused.

“You smell like home.” He mumbled.

Your cheeks warmed, and you pushed the plate gently into his lap, “Eat your toast, Romeo.”

***

The bar was warm and golden, tucked away on a cobbled side street with velvet booths and enchanted candles flickering lazily overhead. You and Pansy had claimed a prime table by the window, cocktails already half-finished and a bowl of enchanted peanuts floating between you, occasionally popping like popcorn.

“I swear,” Pansy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “if Draco mentions his new wand polish one more time, I will hex him bald.”

You snorted into your drink, eyes gleaming, “You wouldn’t. You like running your hands through his hair too much.”

She grinned, “Touché. But I’d still threaten it. Keeps him humble.”

It was the first proper girls’ night out you’d had in what felt like forever, and Pansy — ever the scene-stealing, chaos-bringing goddess she was — made it feel like the war, the heartbreak, and everything in between had never happened.

“So,” She drawled, resting her chin on her palm with a wicked glint in her eye, “Tell me everything. Are you dating? Shagging? Secretly married? Come on, give me the details.”

You laughed, swirling the pink liquid in your glass — some fruity, glittering cocktail you hadn’t tasted since your Hogwarts days. It cooled your fingers while your cheeks burned hotter by the second.

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back your smile, “It’s not like that, Pans. We’re just good friends. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have made it this far without him.”

“Oh darling,” She said with mock pity, “it’s always ‘not like that’ until you’re wearing his jumpers and catching feelings.”

You opened your mouth to object—but the words caught in your throat. You had worn his jumper. You were catching feelings.

Pansy’s eyes widened. She gasped, clutching her chest with dramatic flair, “No. No way. You like him.”

“I didn’t say that." You muttered.

“You didn’t have to!” She squealed, grabbing your hands across the table, “Oh, you poor lovesick thing. I knew it. I knew it!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, “You are insufferable.”

“I’m right, though,” She sang smugly, taking another sip of her drink, “And I actually happen to know that our dear Teddy has been—”

“(Y/N).”

The voice cut through the air like a curse.

You froze.

Pansy’s glass paused halfway to her lips. Her smile vanished.

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t have to look to know who it was — that voice had once lived in your dreams. Now it only haunted your nightmares.

Slowly, you turned in your seat.

And saw your ex-fiancé standing at the edge of your table.

You stared up at him, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. He looked mostly the same — slicked-back hair that tried too hard to look effortless, a coat more expensive than it was tasteful, and that same smirk he always wore like armor. His jaw was tighter now, clenched like he hadn’t unclenched it in months. His eyes were cold, sunken a little, and mean in a way they didn’t even bother to hide.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” He said, voice low, razor-edged.

Pansy was on her feet before you could speak, stepping in front of you like a drawn wand. “And yet here you are,” She said, all sugar and venom, “Funny how you manage to show up where no one wants you.”

He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on you, “We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t,” Pansy snapped, “Back off before I hex your bits so far inward you’ll need a St. Mungo’s specialist to find them.”

“Pansy,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against her sleeve. Your hand was shaking.

He took a step closer, “Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You rose slowly, pushing your chair back, jaw tight, “Fine. Five minutes. Nothing more.”

“Absolutely not—” Pansy began, but you shook your head.

“I’m okay.”

You weren’t. Not even remotely. But you needed this to end. To really end.

The night air was sharp against your skin, the hum of the city muffled as you stepped into the alley behind the bar. You folded your arms, more out of defense than cold.

“So this is what it takes to find you now?” He said, voice curling with disdain, “Are you selling yourself like a whore on street corners now?”

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice steady, “What do you want?”

He took a step forward, “I heard the rumors. People talk, you know. Especially when a bride vanishes in silk and ends up playing house with that filthy blood traitor Theodore Nott.”

Your lips parted in disbelief.

“I should’ve known,” he sneered, “You always acted so self-righteous. But look at you now — just another slag hopping into the next man’s bed. Must be nice not needing vows to spread your legs, yeah?”

The words hit like a slap, your stomach twisting with fury and disbelief.

“I’m done listening to this.”

You turned—and before you could even brace yourself, he yanked you sharply by the collar and slammed you hard against the brick wall. The air whooshed out of your lungs as your back hit the cold surface, the impact jarring your entire body.

His hands tightened suddenly around your throat, fingers digging into your skin in a cruel grip. You gasped for air, panic surging as darkness edged your vision.

“Don’t you dare think you can just walk away from me.” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wild and merciless.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but his strength was overwhelming, pressing down harder, choking the breath from you.

"Reducto!"

The spell hit him square in the chest, blasting him off you with bone-jarring force. He flew backward, crashing into the far wall of the alley with a sickening thud before collapsing in a heap, gasping and stunned.

Pansy didn’t hesitate.

She stormed toward him like a vengeful shadow, wand leveled between his eyes as he groaned and tried to sit up. Her voice was shaking—but only with rage.

“You filthy little coward,” she spat, every word laced with venom, “Touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

He growled, trying to rise—Pansy kicked him flat in the chest, knocking him back to the ground with her heel, “Stay. Down.”

Your knees buckled, the sudden rush of oxygen burning your throat as you slid down the wall, coughing and trembling.

“Whoa—hey.” Pansy caught you, strong and certain, one arm steadying you as the other clutched her wand, “I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re going home.”

And this time, you let her carry the weight.

***

The world spun sharply as Pansy apparated, the crack of displaced air still echoing in your ears. The warmth of her body vanished the moment your feet hit solid ground—wood floors, familiar scents. You were in Theo’s flat.

Laughter and chatter from the living room fell to a jarring halt.

Five pairs of eyes turned in unison: Theo, Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, and Enzo—all frozen mid-conversation, drinks in hand. The moment they saw you, everything dropped.

“(Y/N)?”

Your name left Theo like a punch to the gut.

You were trembling, arms wrapped tight around your middle as if they could hold your ribs together. Pansy still held onto you, as if she wasn’t entirely sure you wouldn’t collapse, and even she looked rattled under the scrutiny of the room.

“That fucker,” She said through gritted teeth, “Grabbed her outside the bar. Slammed her into a wall. Tried to—” her voice faltered, thick with fury, “She couldn’t breathe.”

Theo moved.

Fast.

He crossed the room in three strides, gently brushing Pansy aside like she was made of smoke. Then he was in front of you, hands hovering for a split second before he cupped your face, cradling you like you were something fragile and sacred.

His eyes roamed over your features—your split lip, your glassy eyes, the bruising fingerprints beginning to bloom like violets around your throat—and something in him shattered.

His jaw clenched, fury crashing through him like a tidal wave. He looked like he could tear the world apart.

“I’m fine.” You rasped, voice barely more than a whisper.

You tried to smile—a brittle, curling thing, “I know that probably doesn’t help my case, but… trust me, I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that,” Theo said softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his voice hoarse and tight, “Don’t lie to me right now.”

Your breath hitched.

Draco hovered beside Pansy now, brushing her hair behind her ear as he muttered something only she could hear. She nodded once, giving her boyfriend a soft smile before turning her gaze back to you, eyes gleaming with steel.

Theo gently tugged you forward into his chest.

You didn’t resist.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs had surrendered somewhere between the alley and the flat, and he was warm, steady—home. Before you could stop it, a sob cracked loose from your chest, raw and shaking. Your hands fisted into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

He held you tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice trembling beneath the quiet, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

The flat was eerily quiet now. One by one, the boys filtered out, their faces grim with the weight of what had just happened.

Mattheo lingered just long enough to press a firm, reassuring hand to your shoulder. His voice was low, steady, almost a promise, “You’re safe now. We’ll take care of everything from here.”

Blaise didn’t say a word. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate nod to Theo, then to you, his expression taut with barely restrained anger and resolve.

Enzo’s jaw clenched as he glanced at you one last time. “He’s a dead man,” he muttered under his breath before turning away and joining the others.

You barely noticed them leaving. Your world had shrunk to the steady rhythm of Theo’s heartbeat humming against your ear, the comforting warmth of his hand pressing into your back, and the ache lodged deep in your chest — a raw, stubborn pain that refused to fade.

“I want him arrested. Tonight.” Pansy’s voice cut through the silence like ice, cold and deadly calm but laced with a fury that made the room vibrate, “Draco, I’m serious. He attacked her in public. Slammed her against a wall. Choked her until she could barely breathe.”

Draco’s tone was clipped, measured, but the sharp edge of anger was unmistakable, “You have a name?”

“Graham Bulstrode.” Pansy replied without hesitation, her voice razor-sharp and unyielding.

Draco’s jaw tightened, “Consider it done, my love.”

Every word settled into your foggy mind — distant but painfully clear. The tremble in your hands hadn’t stopped, but Theo’s arms wrapped around you only tightened, as if willing to keep the danger at bay. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head, a quiet vow whispered without words.

When the door finally clicked shut behind the last of the others, the tension finally broke. The tears you had been holding back surged forward, hot and fierce, tumbling freely down your cheeks. You clung to him, the safety of his presence grounding you as the storm inside began to settle.

You buried your face in Theo’s chest, shoulders trembling as the sobs broke free, wracking your entire body with every breath. He held you through it, solid and steady, one hand gently combing through your hair like he could smooth away the terror still clinging to your skin.

“I’m so stupid,” You gasped, the words catching in your throat, “I’ve—I’ve thought about that moment for the past month. What I’d say. How I’d stand up for myself. I imagined throwing that stupid ring back in his smug face, saying something cutting, something final—but when it actually happened…”

Your voice cracked, guilt burning behind your ribs.

“I couldn’t even speak. I just froze. I have a wand but I couldn't cast a single spell. I let him say all that shit about me—about you—and I... I didn’t even defend you, Theo. I’m so sorry. I'm so useless.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just held you tighter, like your apology hurt more than anything else that had happened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—gentle, but resolute.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His words rumbled in his chest, warm against your cheek.

“I don’t give a damn about what you said or didn’t say to him. You don’t owe me a defense—not ever.”

You looked up at him, blinking through the tears. His eyes found yours, fierce and heartbreakingly soft, like you were something sacred—something he’d never let break.

“And you’re not stupid, (Y/N), or useless,” He said, voice thick with emotion, “You’re incredible. Brave. Stronger than you even realize. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, grounding, safe.

“He’s not going to get away with this,” Theo whispered, “I promise you.”

You sighed, sinking deeper into him, like you could finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. His arms wrapped around you again, warm and sure.

“Come on,” he murmured, “Let’s treat that bruise. Get you something to eat.”

But you shook your head, face pressed tight against his chest.

“Don’t let me go.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore—it was tender, healing. You curled into him like you could disappear there, into the rhythm of his breathing and the thrum of his heart.

“I’m never going to let you go.”

And you believed him.

His heartbeat echoed beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. With every beat, the weight in your chest began to lift—slowly, steadily.

Safe. Loved. Finally, home.

***

A couple weeks later it was raining softly outside, the kind of slow, constant drizzle that blurred the windows and made the world feel far away. You and Theo were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, a blanket lazily thrown across your laps. A half-empty mug sat abandoned on the coffee table beside a crumpled takeout bag. The telly hummed faintly in the background, long forgotten.

“So then she goes, ‘I forgot to run the control,’” You said, exasperated, “and I swear to Merlin, I have never seen Slughorn that mad in his life.”

Theo snorted, one arm draped across your shoulders, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Serves her right for always nicking your freshly ground moonstone.”

“Right? And of course, the one day I’m not there to supervise her, she completely tanks it. It’s not like I was goofing off—I was at the Ministry signing off the paperwork for Bulstrode's trial.” You sighed, “Slughorn knew, so I didn’t get in trouble, but I still have to repeat all her damn trials for the next few weeks. As if I don’t already have enough on my plate.”

“What’s keeping you so busy, Bella?” Theo asked, smiling as he gently unraveled the curl and let it spring back into place, “Maybe I can help.”

“Well, I’ve been needing to check out some apartments. Can’t really leave that to you, now can I?” You yawned, “But if you want, we could go together?”

Theo stilled.

He pulled back just slightly, brows furrowed as he studied your face, “Apartment hunting?”

You blinked, “Yeah… I’ve been looking at places closer to work. Just something small. I mean, I don’t make much yet.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Wait—(Y/N), are you planning to move out?”

You nodded slowly, suddenly self-conscious, “I mean—I’ve been here for a while now and I love it, obviously, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I figured—”

“You think you’re overstaying?” His voice cut gently but sharply through your words.

You faltered, “Well, I just—”

“You’re not,” Theo said, a little breathless now, like the words had been sitting on the edge of his tongue for too long, “You’re not overstaying. I want you here.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to come home to you. Every day. Not to an empty flat. Not to a world where you’re somewhere else.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together like a lifeline. His voice dropped lower, steadier.

“Stay. Please.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and sure, “I want to come home knowing the woman I love is safe. Here. With me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, the world narrowing to his hand in yours, the soft thunder of rain against the windows, the warmth of his words blooming in your chest like magic.

“What do you mean, the woman you love?”

Theo let out a quiet laugh, a little stunned you hadn’t realized it already. His smile turned lopsided, eyes shining.

“Are you daft, (Y/N)?” He said, voice thick, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been taken with you since we were kids, and I’m still—” He broke off for a breath, like the truth was catching up to him all at once. “Still completely gone for you.”

Your heart did something unsteady in your chest.

“Say it again.” You whispered.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stuttered. The words lingered in the air between you, delicate and heavy all at once—like the hush after a spell’s been cast.

You didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

“I’ve loved you for a long time too, Theo,” You whispered, the confession trembling on your tongue, “I don’t even know when it started—when I began falling for you—but I did. And I fell hard. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

You smiled through the softness in your voice, “You’re the kindest, most patient man I’ve ever met… and I’m thanking my lucky stars that I met you on the day of my wedding.”

That pulled a laugh from him—warm, full, and brimming with disbelief. He tilted his head back slightly, grinning like you’d just handed him the entire sky.

You leaned in just a fraction, voice softer now, “I want to stay. Not just in the flat. In your life. With you.”

That did it.

Theo closed the distance, his hands cradling your face as his lips found yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was fierce and tender all at once—like a dam breaking, like every moment of yearning pouring out of him in one breathless, burning exhale.

You melted into him, arms winding around his neck, your body pressed close as the kiss deepened—hungry now, desperate. His fingers tangled in your hair, yours fisting in his shirt, both of you trying to memorize the moment, to feel every inch of it like it could make up for all the waiting.

Weeks—months—of unspoken words, of lingering touches and stolen glances, of intimate moments that always ended with breathless silences and aching restraint—crashed into a single breath.

Theo kissed you like you were his lifeline—like he’d been holding back a storm and had finally been given permission to let it break.

You gasped as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, your throat—reverent, hungry, like he was rediscovering you with every breath. “Tell me to stop,” He murmured, voice hoarse with restraint, “Say the word, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you tugged him closer, heart pounding under his palm as your fingers slid into his hair, voice trembling with a dangerous sort of affection, “If you stop, Theodore Nott, I’m sleeping at Pansy’s tonight.”

He let out a low, incredulous laugh—half-choked and fully wrecked—then kissed you again, deeper this time. Certain. Claiming. The rain tapped gently against the windows, forgotten behind the haze of fogged glass and the thrum of two hearts finally letting go.

And when he lifted you off the couch, carrying you down the hall with all the tenderness in the world and not an ounce of hesitation, the only thing either of you could think was:

About bloody time.

***

It was barely 9 a.m. when the front door to Theo’s flat creaked open—again, without so much as a knock.

Mattheo’s voice cut through the quiet, “I swear, if this idiot didn’t do the groceries and we hiked all the way here for his strawberries for nothing, I’m setting the place on fire.”

“I brought croissants.” Lorenzo offered brightly.

“You brought them from my kitchen,” Draco said flatly, “You literally stole them from my counter.”

Theo stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Do none of you understand the concept of boundaries?”

He was mid-scowl when Blaise’s voice drifted in from the hallway, “Don't you imbeciles think it's too early to—”

And then they all fell silent.

You had just stepped out of the bedroom—the master bedroom this time, not the guest room—bleary-eyed and yawning, wearing nothing but Theo’s hoodie. Again. Hair a little messy, legs bare, looking entirely at home.

Draco blinked, “Déjà vu.”

Mattheo let out a dramatic sigh, “Alright, but like… why is it always the hoodie and no pants? Not that I’m complaining—it’s just, you know what, never mind.”

Blaise leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, “So what’s the excuse this time? Sleepwalking? Laundry explosion? Sudden amnesia about how trousers work?”

You didn’t even flinch.

“We’re dating,” You said flatly, tugging the sleeve of Theo’s hoodie over your hand as you rubbed your eye, “And I’m not wearing pants because I had sex with your friend. Good morning.”

Silence.

Four pairs of stunned eyes stared at you.

Lorenzo made a choked noise, “I—okay.”

Mattheo sputtered, hands flailing, “You can’t just say that without warning!”

“You asked.” You replied dryly.

Draco took a long sip of coffee, muttering behind the rim of his mug, “I owe Pansy ten Galleons.”

***

Bonus:

Your heart pounded as you stared at the closed doors, the soft strains of the wedding march beginning to drift through the wood. Your palms were sweaty around the bouquet you carried, nerves and excitement swirling in your chest.

Then, the doors swung open, revealing you in a stunning white dress, your smile bright and genuine as you began your walk down the aisle. The hush of the ceremony wrapped around you like a warm embrace, the aisle stretching ahead lined with friends and family.

A memory flickered through your mind—just a couple of years ago, you had run away from a different wedding down the hall, only to find refuge in this very chapel. It was here that you met your to-be husband, the love of your life.

Your eyes locked onto the man standing across the room, looking impossibly handsome in his tailored suit. His gaze locked onto you immediately, and for a moment, all the noise and bustle melted away. It was just you and him.

Only a few feet separated you now, but something in your heart couldn’t wait. Before you realized what you were doing, you broke into a gentle run—this time towards the groom.

Theo’s face broke into a gentle smile—the kind reserved only for you—as he reached for you. Before you could even think twice, his arms closed around you, catching you effortlessly. Your feet lifted from the floor as he spun you gently, twirling you in a slow, perfect circle.

The world blurred—lights, faces, music—all faded into a whirl of warmth and happiness.

He pressed his forehead to yours, a slow smile curling on his lips as he whispered, "You just can't wait to marry me, can you?"

You laughed softly, breath warm against his skin, "I couldn’t run away—tried it before. Too much work."

His eyes sparkled with amusement and love as he pulled you closer, the world around you fading into nothing but this perfect, shared moment.

***

EXTRA BONUS BECAUSE I CAN HEHEHE:

Hogwarts, Year 6:

You glanced across the potions table, scanning the clutter of ingredients before turning slightly toward the Slytherin bench.

“Theodore?” You said cautiously, holding your crushed lacewing flies with gloved fingers, “Could I borrow the asphodel? Just for a sec.”

He looked up from his cauldron like you’d just asked for his wand. There was a pause. Not rude, not angry—just... blank. Then, wordlessly, he slid the jar toward you across the table. His fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment when you took it. Cold skin. A little spark. His hand recoiled like he’d been burned.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” You murmured, blinking.

He just gave a short nod, already turning away, jaw tight as he went back to slicing his valerian root like it had offended him personally.

You blinked again, confused, then padded back over to your side of the room where Pansy was lounging against the workbench like it was a chaise lounge in the Slytherin common room.

She quirked an eyebrow, “What was that?”

You shrugged, a slight pout forming on your lips, “I don’t know. I guess he just really doesn’t like me.”

Pansy snorted, “Please. If Theo really didn’t like you, you’d know.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Theo was absolutely not concentrating on his potion anymore. He was staring blankly into the cauldron, stirring too fast, ears tinged pink.

Your hands just touched.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

Harry Potter Taglist:

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