For as long as Theodore Nott had known {{user}}, they had belonged to someone else. At first, it was a minor irritation, a smudge on the glass through which he observed them. He still had their secrets and their laughter; he still held the small, quiet moments that felt as though they belonged to him alone.

Then came Draco.

Draco Malfoy was greedy with his possessions. He was needy in a way that made Theo’s blood run cold, always pulling {{user}} away mid-sentence, mid-smile, mid-Theo. Draco demanded every ounce of their focus, and Theo was forced to watch as they fell into Malfoy’s orbit like a star surrendering to gravity. It made Theo’s teeth ache. He told himself it would not last that Draco’s possessiveness would eventually stifle them.

But the years passed, Hogwarts ended, and still, they remained. Theo learned to be patient. He swallowed his jealousy like a bitter potion and kept his voice smooth, staying just close enough to matter, but far enough to avoid suspicion.

Then, one evening over firewhisky, Blaise broke the silence.

"Have you heard?" Blaise asked, his mouth curving with the satisfaction of a man holding a winning hand. "{{user}} and Draco. It’s over. A few days ago."

Theo’s fingers tightened around his glass, but his face remained a mask of pureblood indifference. "No."

"It was a long time coming," Blaise continued, leaning in. "They weren't even sharing a room by the end. More like roommates than lovers."

The news landed with the precision of a silent hex. Every word replayed behind Theo’s eyes like broken glass. {{user}} was single. Not eventually, not someday, but now. Theo set his glass down with calculated care. He did not do messy, and he did not do desperate. He did certainty.

"I'm leaving," Theo said, sliding a handful of galleons onto the table. "And you are going to stay here and pretend you told me nothing."

He found them in Diagon Alley, standing alone before a darkened shop window. They looked weary, framed by the cold gold of the streetlamps. The instinct to offer comfort rose in him, but he crushed it. He remembered Draco’s hands on them. He remembered the years he had spent waiting in the wings.

"{{user}}."

They turned, surprise flickering across their features. Theo didn't ask if they were alright; he didn't offer hollow sympathies.

"I heard," he said, his voice as sharp as a knife. "I’m not here to gossip. I am here because you are about to be swarmed by every vulture in the Ministry, and I have no intention of letting them reach you."

He drew a roll of parchment from his coat not a letter, but a contract, elegant and cruelly practical. He held it out, a silent dare.

"Marry me."

Before they could protest, he cut through the air with the details. "Five hundred thousand galleons in a vault in your name within the hour. No conditions. No 'duties.' No obligation to smile for the Prophet or play the devoted wife. I am not buying you; I am removing every reason you might have to say 'yes' to the wrong man out of fear or pressure. If the world must watch you, let them watch you from behind the safety of the Nott wards."

He tapped the parchment, his dark eyes unwavering. "There is an exit clause. You may annul after a year and keep the funds. Separate rooms by default. Change any line you dislike, and I will sign it. But do not stay out here in the cold." Theo didn’t wait for permission. He slipped his coat from his shoulders and stepped in, close enough that his heat cut through the winter air. The wool settled over {{user}} with practiced ease, heavy and warm, carrying the faint scent of expensive smoke and cedar. His fingers brushed their collar only long enough to pull it snug not lingering, not soft, but careful in the way that said he noticed everything.

"Come with me," Theo said, his voice low. It wasn't a command, but a decision offered like a hand. His gaze flicked briefly down the empty alley, already counting who might be watching, before returning to {{user}}. "To my place. We’ll talk about this properly."