He had been your best friend long before Hogwarts, always by your side—just as you had always been by his.

One night, as the two of you wandered the dimly lit corridors, a passing student let out a low whistle in your direction. Theo didn’t take it lightly. Without hesitation, he turned on the guy, sharp words escalating into something more. A fist was thrown, then another, until Theo had him on the ground, breathing hard, fists clenched, eyes burning with something you couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t say much as you led him back to your dorm, but he followed without question. Now, he lay stretched out on your bed, shirtless, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows across the bruises blooming along his skin. You sat at the edge, carefully stitching up a wound on his chest, your hands steady despite the way your heart pounded.

The room was quiet except for the occasional hitch in his breath and the soft scrape of your needle against the thread. You refused to look up, too focused on your work, but you could feel his eyes on you—watching, studying, like he was seeing something he hadn’t noticed before.