“You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you’re in love with me.”

Theodore smirked at your teasing tone, but the truth lodged itself in his throat. If only you knew.

For years, Theo had been in love with you—completely, helplessly, in a way that made his carefully composed façade crack every time you smiled at him. But you never took him seriously. Every sly compliment, every lingering touch, every time he stole the seat next to you in the common room, you brushed it off as part of his effortless charm. The same charm he used on others, but never with the same meaning.

It was time for that to change.

The first attempt was subtle. A hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowded corridors. A cloak draped over your shoulders when the autumn chill bit at your skin. He even skipped a night out with Mattheo and Blaise just to stay up with you, quizzing you on potions ingredients despite already knowing the answers.

“You’re being suspiciously nice to me,” you said one evening, narrowing your eyes at him over the rim of your tea. “Are you dying?”

Theo rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “You wound me, truly. Maybe I just want to take care of you.”

You laughed. “You flirt with everyone, Nott. It’s practically your love language.”

He fought the urge to groan. How were you so oblivious?

The next attempt was bigger.

A gift, carefully wrapped and waiting on your bed. A book you’d mentioned wanting months ago, long forgotten even by you. The note inside was simple: "I listen.”

Your fingers traced the inscription, eyes softening as you looked at him. “You’re… really sweet, Theo.”

Not enough.

The final attempt left no room for misunderstanding.

You were both leaving the Great Hall when Theo caught your hand, pulling you back. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with something serious, something raw.