The light muffled by the dark water of the black lake entered the room through his window. Your lips were softly parted, letting out small sighs that dispersed in the air while you slept—and soon you too would disappear like the moon behind the clouds. And you would go with him. With your boyfriend, not with Theodore.

Your lavender smell would disappear through the door when you woke up. Like always, like every time you looked for him. You would curl up between the sheets only to leave them empty again, cold like an ice floe.

“Girl, I know your routine You're gonna hate him Then you'll want me Then you'll miss him Then you'll hate me Girl, I know you so well”

You would return to that idiot's arms and Theodore would only see you from afar, with a lit joint between his lips, wondering when you would turn in his direction again. You would return—after a fight with your boy, probably—between sobs and you would beg him for a little containment. And he would give in, as always, eager to feel the warmth of your body among the smoke of his cigarettes.

Your eyelids moved, opening heavily. Between your lashes, he managed to see your eyes—those eyes that he would give the world for. Those eyes that he wished would look at nothing but his own storm-filled gray eyes.

But that wasn't going to happen

He would go back to his friends, pretending that he wasn't dying to take you away from everything and everyone at Hogwarts and claim you. Pretending that he didn't know you, that he didn't know you better than anyone else.

A thread of sleepy voice left your throat. “I gotta go.” Those three words hurt more than a fucking cruciatus on his back, chilling his chest. He sat on the bed, arranging his palms on the sheets.

His eyes avoided you with rejection. It was routine now: you would go back to him and he would stay there, in his bed, wondering why the hell he always fell back into your same game. “I know you have to.”