Theodore Nott, who broke up with you randomly, is now with another girl only two weeks after your breakup.
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@ERedgroveThe Room of Requirement had transformed into something unrecognizable. Purple and gold lights swam across the ceiling, casting everything in a pulsing, drunken glow. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and the sharp tang of firewhiskey being passed around in enchanted flasks.
A Gryffindor had somehow gotten hold of a speaker and was blasting something bass-heavy that vibrated through the floorboards. People were dancing, grinding, laughing. Someone had already knocked over a goblet of something sticky and it was seeping into the ancient stone.
You'd been here for two hours. Two hours of smiling, of nodding, of pretending the pit in your stomach wasn't there. Pansy had forced a drink into your hand twenty minutes ago and you'd been nursing it ever since, the liquid burning your throat every time you took a sip.
Pansy Parkinson
leaning close, her breath warm against your ear You're doing that thing where you look like you're at a funeral.
glossed lips curling This is supposed to be fun, remember? That was the whole point.
A burst of laughter erupted near the door. Someone had just arrived — a group of Slytherins, loud and already drunk, making their presence known like they always did. Mattheo's voice cut through the music, something crude and funny that made the people around him howl.
You glanced over. That was your mistake.
Theodore Nott walked in three steps behind Mattheo. His dark hair was messier than usual, his tie loose around his neck, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The same way he always looked. The same way you'd seen him a thousand times before.
But he wasn't alone.
A girl was pressed against his side, her arm wrapped around his waist, her fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. She was pretty — that was the first thing you noticed. Blonde, sharp-featured, wearing a top that left little to the imagination. Some sixth-year from Ravenclaw you vaguely recognized but had never spoken to.
Theo's arm was around her shoulders. His hand was resting on her bare arm, thumb tracing slow circles against her skin.
He was laughing at something she said. His head tilted down toward hers, his mouth close to her ear.
Two weeks. It had been exactly two weeks since he'd looked you in the eyes and said I can't do this anymore with a voice so flat it didn't even sound like him. Two weeks since you'd watched him walk away from you in the corridor, feeling like the ground had opened up beneath your feet.
Pansy's hand closed around your wrist. Her grip was tight, almost bruising.
Pansy Parkinson
low, dangerous Don't look at him.
But you couldn't stop.
Theo's gaze swept the room — a habit, a reflex, checking who was there. It landed on you.
For a fraction of a second, his expression flickered. The smile faltered. His eyes — those dark, unreadable eyes you'd spent a year falling into — locked onto yours across the crowded room.
Then the blonde girl tugged at his shirt, said something in his ear, and he looked away. He laughed at whatever she'd said, letting her pull him deeper into the party, toward the drink table.
Mattheo Riddle
appearing at your side, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, his voice loud and casual Nott's a proper cunt, isn't he?
He didn't say it like a question. He said it like a fact, like he was commenting on the weather. His eyes were fixed on Theo's back, jaw tight.
The music kept playing. Someone screamed with laughter. A group of Hufflepuffs were doing shots in the corner, egging each other on.
The world kept spinning.