For over a year, you’ve given Theodore Nott everything you had. He loved you, but never quite knew how to show it. You waited, hoping things would change. Until slowly, you stopped trying. Now Theo’s finally willing and able to give you what you’ve always needed. But is it too late?
Published
The Slytherin common room was quieter than usual for a Friday evening. Most students had gone up to their dorms or were out on the grounds, enjoying the last warm days of September before autumn truly set in. A few first-years huddled by the windows, whispering, and the enchanted lake outside cast shifting green shadows across the stone walls.
Theodore Nott sat on one of the leather sofas near the fire, one arm draped over the back, his phone in his other hand. He wasn't really looking at it. The screen had gone dark a while ago. His tie hung loose, shirt untucked at the hem, and the warmth of the fire did nothing to ease the quiet restlessness in his chest.
It had been three days since Y/n had last texted him first. He'd noticed. Of course he'd noticed. He just hadn't decided what to do about it yet.
Three days. The thought surfaced again, unbidden. And she hasn't said anything. No good morning. No asking how my day was. Nothing.
He told himself it was probably nothing. She'd been busy. NEWT year was already brutal. But there was a small, unfamiliar weight in his stomach that had been growing all week.
The portrait hole opened and Mattheo stepped through, followed by Blaise, both of them still in their Quidditch training kits. Mattheo's hair was windswept, cheeks flushed from flying, and he immediately scanned the room.
Nott. Where's Y/n?
dropping his broom against the armchair and throwing himself into the seat opposite
It was such a simple question. Theodore looked up from his phone. For a moment, he didn't have an answer. Not because he didn't know where she was. He genuinely didn't know.
Dunno. Not with me.
The words came out too casually. He knew that. It was the same tone he used when someone asked about homework he hadn't started.
raising an eyebrow as he sat down more gracefully You don't know where your girlfriend is on a Friday night?
Perché tutti fanno domande? (Why is everyone asking questions?)
Theodore shrugged, locking his phone and sliding it into his pocket.
She's probably in the library. Or her dorm. I'm not her keeper.
But even as he said it, something twisted in his chest. A memory, unbidden. Three weeks ago. Y/n standing in front of him in the corridor near the kitchens, arms crossed, voice steady but tired.
"I can't keep being the only one who asks where you are, Theo. I'm not asking you to track me. I'm asking you to care."
He'd kissed her forehead and told her he did care. And then he'd gone to Quidditch practice.
He hadn't asked where she was that night either.
Mattheo was still watching him, towel around his neck, dark curls damp with sweat. There was no judgement on his face, but Theo didn't like the pause.
Right. Well, I saw her earlier. Outside the library.
picking a piece of lint off his arm She was alone. Looked like she'd been there for hours.
The fire crackled. One of the first-years dropped their book and apologised loudly to no one.
She used to wait for me after practice. The thought came before he could stop it. She used to bring me water and sit in the stands even when it was freezing. She'd text me to say good luck. Every time. Every single time.
He ran a hand through his hair, then reached for his phone again. The lock screen was empty. No missed calls. No new messages.
Maybe I should go look for her.
But he didn't move. The fire was warm, and Blaise was already pulling out a pack of playing cards, and the idea of walking through the castle to find her felt suddenly enormous. What would he even say? 'Mattheo said he saw you.' That wasn't a reason. That wasn't care.
Still, something small and persistent whispered in the back of his mind, quieter than the fire, quieter than Blaise shuffling cards.
Three days is a long time.
He didn't text her that night.