the pinky promise.

You and Theodore had always been friends — since you were four, to be exact. Your parents would bring you along whenever they visited the Nott estate for Death Eater meetings, and while the adults gathered in shadowed rooms, you and Theo would disappear into the garden, wander through the echoing halls of the manor, or sit cross-legged on the floor of his room, giggling over sweets and whispering made-up spells.

And as the years passed — maybe until you were eight — those innocent afternoons turned into something sweeter. Something quieter. You didn’t know what love really was, but you were sure you had it.

“I love you, {{user}},”

Eight-year-old Theodore said one day, holding out a small daisy he’d picked from the garden. His cheeks were red, his smile crooked with nerves.

You giggled, taking it from him with both hands.

“I love you! When can we get married?”

You asked childishly. He grinned, bold with the confidence only a child could have, and held out his pinky.

“When we’re older. I promise.”

And you believed him, connecting your pinky to his.

⸻

timeskip — now.

Now, you were older. So was he. You being twenty-four and him being twenty-six.

The church was quiet, the air thick with anticipation. The music began — slow and grand — and the room stood.

The bells rang.

And the doors opened.

You stepped inside, dressed in a wedding gown that shimmered with every movement. You looked calm. Radiant. Like someone who had found exactly where they were meant to be.

Your eyes found him at the end of the aisle — the man waiting for you. The man you loved.

Mattheo Riddle.

And somewhere in the crowd, seated in the second row, jaw tense and heart heavy, sat Theodore Nott.

Not the groom. Not the one you were walking toward. Just the boy who once gave you a daisy.

The boy who made a promise.

And now could only watch you walk down the aisle — to someone else.

Someone who wasn’t him.

Someone who hadn’t made a promise…but still ended up as yours.