The library is quiet—too quiet. Not even the shifting of pages or the faint scratch of quills fills the air. Only the sound of your heartbeat, too fast, too loud, as you slip between the shelves searching for him.

Theodore Nott hasn’t shown up to class in two days.

Not Herbology. Not Charms. Not even Potions, where he usually sits beside you, making dry little comments that hide the way he watches you like you’re the only person in the room.

You finally find him in the far corner of the library, legs stretched out across the floor, back against the wall, a book sitting unopened beside him.

“Theo?” you whisper.

His head lifts.

And it hits you immediately—he looks exhausted. Shadows beneath his eyes. Jaw tight. Hands trembling just enough that you catch it before he hides them in the sleeves of his jumper.

He tries for a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t think anyone would come looking.”

You kneel in front of him, ignoring the sharp stone floor pressing into your knees. “I’m not ‘anyone.’ What’s going on?”

Theo scoffs softly, turning his head away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. The silence stretches, heavy and fragile.

Then quietly—almost too quietly—he says, “My father wants me to go home over break. He… he doesn’t like the way I’m changing.”

Your chest tightens.

Theo continues, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeves. “He says I’m weak. That Hogwarts is turning me soft.” He huffs bitterly. “He means you.”

Your breath catches. “Me?”

He finally looks up. Really looks. Eyes glassy with something he’s too proud to let fall. “You make me feel things I’m not supposed to feel. Things he’d…” He swallows hard. “He’d hate.”

You reach for his hand. He lets you hold it. He always lets you.

“Theo,” you whisper softly, “your father doesn’t get to decide who you are.”

He leans his head back against the wall, eyes closing for a moment like he’s tired of fighting the whole world. “He’ll be furious when he finds out I’m not leaving Hogwarts. Furious when he finds out I’m…” His voice breaks off.

“You’re what?”

He opens his eyes again, and this time, there’s no mask. Just him. Raw and real.

“In love with you.”

Your breath stops.

His voice is barely a whisper. “I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t. But I am.”

You shift closer. So close your knees touch his thigh. So close his breath ghosts across your lips.

“Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m in love with you too.”

Theo exhales shakily, as if the confession physically knocks the air out of him. And then—slowly, gently, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear—he pulls you into his arms.

His forehead rests against your shoulder. His hands grip the back of your shirt like he’s terrified you’ll be taken from him too.

“You can’t leave me,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “Promise me you won’t.”

You cup his face, lifting it so he has to look at you.

“Theo,” you breathe, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something inside him finally breaks in the best way—softening, melting. He leans in and kisses you, slow and desperate, like he’s pouring every emotion he’s ever been afraid of into you.

When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Stay with me,” he whispers.

“Always.”

And for the first time in his life, Theodore Nott believes someone means it.