???????? ? | Theodore Nott

irl

The common room still reeked of firewhiskey and poor decisions.

The music had died days ago, but the memory of it pulsed behind Theodore's eyes like a headache. He sat alone now, slouched on the velvet sofa, shirt wrinkled, jaw clenched. He could still taste the girl's lipstick on his mouth. Daphne.

He hated it.

He hated himself.

He hated the way Marya had looked at Mattheo that day—like he was the only one who could reach her. Like Theodore didn't exist anymore. Like everything they had was something she'd carefully placed on a shelf and walked away from.

So he broke something too.

And now he was here, hungover and empty, when Blaise stormed in like a curse.

"You unbelievable idiot."

Theo blinked. "Zabini?"

"Did you hook up with her again? While we were out hunting her father?!"

His blood turned to ice.

"What?" he stood, voice hoarse.
"You what?"

Blaise stalked up to him, face thunderous.
"He's dead. We found him. We killed him. Marya watched the light leave his eyes, Theo. While you were probably busy sticking your tongue down Daphne's throat again."

Theo's heart nearly stopped.
"No.. She— she didn't tell me—"

"She doesn't owe you that anymore," Blaise snapped.

Silence.

And then: "Is she okay?" Theo asked, voice small, eyes directed to the fireplace.

Blaise's glare softened a fraction.
"No. But she's free."

Theo sat back down like gravity had tripled.

He pictured her—standing in front of that monster, wand raised, ghosts in her eyes and fire in her soul. And he hadn't been there. Not even close.

"Does she... think I'm with Daphne now?"

"Oh, she knows," Blaise said, turning away. "We all do."

Then he left Theo in the quiet wreckage of his choices.