Theo’s POV

The common room was quiet, the firelight flickering against the dark stone walls as Theo lounged on the sofa, flipping lazily through a Quidditch magazine. You sat beside him, knees tucked to your chest, pretending to read a book—but really, you were stealing glances at him, your heart pounding every time his fingers turned a page, every time he exhaled a soft sigh.

You’d loved him for years. And he had no idea.

"You’re staring," Theo said suddenly, not looking up.

Your breath hitched. "No, I’m not."

He smirked, finally lifting his gaze to yours. "You are. What, do I have ink on my face?"

No, you’re just perfect.

You rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh. "Please. If I was staring, it’s because you’ve been reading that same page for ten minutes. What’s so interesting about broomstick regulations, anyway?"

Theo’s smirk deepened. "Maybe I just like taking my time."

Your stomach twisted. Stop saying things like that.

You swallowed hard, looking away. "Well, hurry up. I wanted to borrow that when you’re done."

Theo tossed the magazine aside, stretching his arms behind his head. "Bored of your book already?"

You stiffened. "No. Just… thought I’d switch."

He tilted his head, studying you. "You’re acting weird."

"I’m not."

Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his grey eyes locked onto yours. "Yeah, you are. You’ve been jumpy all week. What’s going on?"

I’m in love with you, and it’s killing me.

You shrugged, forcing a smile. "Nothing. Just… N.E.W.T.s stress, I guess."

Theo didn’t look convinced. "You’re lying."

Your pulse spiked. "I’m not."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You know, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. We’re best friends, remember?"

That’s the problem.

You bit your lip, your chest aching. "I know. It’s just… nothing important."

Theo’s expression darkened. "Right. Nothing important." He stood abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

Your heart lurched. "Theo—"

But he was already walking away, leaving you sitting there, your book forgotten in your lap.