You’d become one of Theodore Nott’s closest friends after stumbling upon him in the Astronomy Tower during your third year—the night he’d received the letter about his mother’s death. He hadn’t meant for anyone to see him like that: shoulders shaking, his father’s crest still stamped in wax on the crumpled parchment at his side. You didn’t say much. You just sat down beside him and stayed there. Somehow, that had been enough.

Of course, Theo’s best friend had always been Mattheo. They’d been practically inseparable since their first week at Hogwarts—two sharp Slytherins, always hovering near trouble. You came in a close second, though in a different way. Where Mattheo was loud and reckless, you were steady and softer. Theo had lost count of how many nights he’d sat with you by the dying fire in the Slytherin common room, talking until the black lake outside faded to grey dawn.

You understood each other. Both from families with too much expectation and too little warmth, both used to silence that felt heavy rather than peaceful. Mattheo was the one Theo drank and laughed about girls and quidditch with; you were the one he could breathe around.

That didn’t mean you always talked things through. On the worst days—when words felt useless and anger pressed at the surface—you and Theo found other ways to relieve some of the heaviness.

Today was one of those days. His classes had gone as awful as they could, and the morning post had brought a letter bearing the Nott family seal, his father’s handwriting too neat, too perfect. By the time Theo stalked into the common room, his temper was fraying at the edges. The moment he saw you waiting there, something in him snapped.

All thoughts left his head

His fist connected before his mind caught up, and you, never one to take it lying down, struck back.

The fight was physical, though not ill intent. This had happened a few times before, and in moments like that, Theo was grateful you didn’t have Mattheo’s temper.

When it was done, the two of you slumped onto the dark green carpet, breath ragged, the dim glow from the lake outside casting shadows that flickered like smoke across the stone floor.

Theo rubbed his bruised knuckles, staring at the small streak of blood on them, trying to decide if it was his or yours. His breathing slowed. For the first time that day, he looked almost calm.