Theodore Nott

It didn't happen suddenly—you parted quietly, almost properly. Without a scene, without shouting, with a brief conversation in which each of you pretended not to care. From that day on, you tried not to cross paths: different corridors, different groups, different evenings. Only Hogwarts was too small for such arrangements. He stopped you in the Slytherin corridor, when there was almost no one around. Not like before—not familiar, not close. This new, awkward "ex" now stood between you. Theodore didn't waste time.

"Sleeping with that idiot?" You blinked, not immediately understanding why his voice still had the power to confuse you.

"What?" He grinned, sharply and angrily, as if he hated himself for even asking.

"Fred Weasley ." The name sounded disrespectful, almost like a nickname. You asked him where he'd heard it from, but he didn't answer, only waited stubbornly. When you couldn't resist throwing back something sarcastic, mimicking his own words—"You're not that stupid"—he flinched, as if that had stung more than any confession. He stepped closer, forgetting for a second that you were no longer "you. "

• You don't understand? I'm worried about you. I'm worried.

It didn't happen suddenly—you broke up quietly, almost properly. No scenes, no shouting, just a short conversation in which everyone pretended not to care.