Chapter Text
As Eleanor stood at the edge of the Quidditch stands, her eyes glazed over as the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match unraveled in front of her. Usually, the first match of the season would be a highlight; her position on the Slytherin Cheer Team meant cheering alongside her housemates, igniting a fierce pride for Slytherin's victory. But today, her enthusiasm was missing. The crowd's roars and chants were muffled, almost distant, as the chilly autumn wind bit through her emerald-green cheer uniform. The skirt fluttered, and goosebumps prickled her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth, though it felt impossible to shake the cold, both outside and within.
The real chill, though, wasn't from the wind. Her mind was far from the game, drifting back to thoughts of Theodore Nott, her boyfriend, for so long that she couldn't remember what life had been like without him. But now, everything between them felt... wrong. They'd been arguing constantly, and the reasons seemed as blurry as the clouds above the pitch. Was it the pressure of their final two years? The growing tension in the wizarding world that loomed over them like a dark cloud? Or had they just outgrown each other?
Eleanor glanced over at the game, the familiar blur of green and silver zipping through the sky. Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Seeker, darted after the Snitch, but Eleanor couldn't bring herself to care. The icy winds matched her internal turmoil; her emotions were just as frigid, her thoughts swirling like the gusts that cut through the stadium. She wanted to be anywhere but here, preferably back in the dim warmth of the Slytherin common room where she could escape her thoughts for just a moment longer.
But even then, Theodore's absence would loom over her. Would things ever go back to the way they were? Or was this just the beginning of the end?
A loud cheer erupted from the Slytherin stands around her, but she barely flinched. Her mind was far away, replaying the last words they'd exchanged that morning. He had been cold and distant, and it stung worse than the frosty air.
Despite the roaring crowd and the exhilarating atmosphere around her, Eleanor felt disconnected, as if she were on the outside of her own life, watching it unfold without her. She could feel her housemates' excitement vibrating in the stands, but all she could think about was the knot of worry in her chest.
She didn't even realize what was happening until her best friend, Pansy, grabbed her arm, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"Eli, look," Pansy spoke quickly, urgency in her voice, as she started weaving through the crowd and heading out of the stands.
Eleanor's eyes finally focused on what Pansy was pointing at, her heart sinking at the sight. Theodore was down on the Quidditch field, standing face-to-face with Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. Blaise and Draco flanked him, standing back but clearly on edge, ready to jump in if things escalated. Theodore's face was twisted in anger, and though Eleanor couldn't hear what was being said yet, the tension was obvious from the way his fists were clenched at his sides, his posture taut as if he was barely holding himself back.
As Eleanor and Pansy hurried down the steps, the full scene became clearer. Theodore was practically nose-to-nose with Oliver, glaring up at him. Oliver, taller by a few inches and built solidly from years of playing Quidditch, didn't look the least bit intimidated. In fact, he seemed bored by Theodore's aggression, his arms crossed, a slight smirk playing on his lips. The rest of the Gryffindor team hovered nearby, watching with varying degrees of amusement and concern, but none of them seemed too worried...yet.
"I'm not sure what your problem is, Nott," Oliver said, his voice low and even, but with a threat woven through it. "Your team won. Now walk away while you still can."
Eleanor's breath caught in her throat. She knew Theodore too well. He wouldn't take this well: he never responded to anyone talking down to him, especially not in front of a crowd. The biting wind whipped through the field, but all Eleanor could feel was the growing heat of anxiety, bubbling up as she watched Theodore's jaw tighten. His temper was always simmering just beneath the surface, and now, it was about to boil over.
The crowd of students, sensing that something was about to happen, had started to gather closer, forming a loose circle around the two boys. Pansy quickened her pace, and Eleanor followed, heart pounding in her chest.
Theodore leaned in closer, his voice barely above a growl. "You think you're untouchable, Wood? Let's see how well you walk away after this."
Before Eleanor could even shout out a warning, she saw the shift in Theodore's stance. Her heart raced, panic clawing at her chest. She knew this was only going to end badly if she didn't intervene fast. She could see Draco and Blaise exchanging glances, unsure of how far to let this go before they stepped in themselves.
"Theo!" Eleanor finally yelled, her voice sharp as she ran onto the field, pushing her way through the crowd. "What the hell are you doing?"
Theodore froze at the sound of Eleanor's voice, his eyes snapping toward her. For a brief second, Eleanor thought she saw a flicker of remorse, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by the hardened mask of anger he had been wearing for days. His fists remained clenched, and his stance was still aggressive, but there was a moment of hesitation.
"Theo, stop!" Eleanor called again, her voice steadier now as she moved closer to him, cutting through the tense circle of students. She could feel every eye on her, but she didn't care. All that mattered was defusing the situation before it spiraled out of control.
Oliver's smirk hadn't faded, but he took a small step back, glancing between Theodore and Eleanor with raised eyebrows. "Looks like your girlfriend's here to save you, Nott," Oliver said, his tone dripping with condescension. A few Gryffindors snickered from behind him.
The jab hit harder than any spell could have. Eleanor saw the immediate effect on Theodore, his face flushed with anger, eyes darkening as his fury grew more palpable. For a split second, she was terrified he would lunge at Oliver, regardless of her being there. Without thinking, she stepped in front of him, placing herself between them. Her hand landed on his chest, the fabric of his Quidditch uniform cool beneath her palm, as she tried to create distance between him and Oliver.
"Theo, don't," she whispered, her voice urgent but soft, her eyes pleading with him to calm down. "He's not worth it."
For a moment, she thought her words might reach him, that she could soothe the storm brewing inside him. But the anger burning behind Theodore's eyes only intensified. His expression twisted, and before she could react, he snapped.
He threw her hand off his chest with such force that Eleanor stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance. She gasped in surprise, her breath catching as the world seemed to tilt around her. She felt the wind whip through her hair, the weight of his rejection hitting her harder than the physical push. As she staggered, Oliver's arm shot out instinctively to catch her, her heart pounding from both the physical and emotional shock.
"You don't control me!" Theodore roared, his voice cutting through the crisp air, sharp and jagged like broken glass. His words echoed across the pitch, drawing the attention of students who had been filing out of the stands. Conversations halted mid-sentence, laughter died, and all eyes turned toward the brewing conflict. Even those who hadn't noticed the initial confrontation were now captivated by Theodore's outburst, their curiosity sharpening as they watched the scene unravel. There was an electric tension in the air, the kind that made people hold their breath, sensing that something far more dangerous was about to unfold.
Eleanor felt her stomach twist painfully at his words, the venom in his voice stinging more than she wanted to admit. He wasn't just angry, he was unraveling, and she could see it happening right in front of her. The Theodore she knew, the one who had always been calm and thoughtful, was buried beneath layers of frustration and rage. She wanted to reach him, to pull him back before he did something they couldn't take back, but she didn't know how.
"Stop trying to protect me! I am not for you to try and protect!" Theodore was still screaming, his voice rising with each word, vibrating with barely controlled fury. His eyes blazed, unfocused and wild, as if he were fighting against something far larger than this moment.
This time, he took a step closer to Eleanor. She instinctively backed up, her pulse spiking as the space between them shrank. His presence, once a source of comfort, now felt suffocating, the weight of his anger pressing down on her like a storm about to break. His fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white, and his entire body radiated tension as though he were moments away from exploding.
Oliver, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, immediately stepped forward, placing himself between Theodore and Eleanor. An action that did not go unnoticed by Eleanor. His expression had shifted from amused to concerned, the mockery in his eyes replaced by a sharp alertness. His hand, which had earlier been raised to catch Eleanor when she stumbled, hovered protectively at his side, ready to act if things escalated further.
"Nott, back off," Oliver warned, his voice firm, no longer teasing but serious. His eyes flicked to Eleanor briefly, as if checking to make sure she was okay, before focusing on Theodore again. "You're making a scene. Walk away before this gets worse."
But Theodore's fury didn't falter. His eyes flickered to Oliver, the fire within them undiminished, if anything, it seemed to burn even brighter. Eleanor could see the barely contained rage simmering just beneath the surface, like a dragon barely restrained, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. The tension between the two boys was unbearable, as though the very air around them had thickened, charged with the kind of danger that made the crowd hold its collective breath.
"Shut up, Wood," Theodore snarled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone that sent a shiver down Eleanor's spine. His eyes bore into Oliver's, dark and unrelenting. "This has nothing to do with you."
Oliver didn't flinch, but the muscles in his jaw tightened, the same quiet intensity in his stance. He looked like he was ready for things to escalate, but not eager for it. Eleanor could sense how close they were to a breaking point, and her heart pounded in her chest, desperate to find a way to defuse the situation.
Before Theodore could do anything rash, Draco stepped forward, his usual aloofness replaced by a rare moment of calm authority. "Theo, this is enough," Draco said, his voice firm but lacking its usual coldness. He placed a hand on Theodore's shoulder, pulling him back slightly. "Let's go. It's not worth picking a fight for no reason."
Theodore's eyes flicked to Draco, his expression still hardened, but for a brief second, the tension in his posture seemed to waver. Eleanor could see that Draco's words had struck something in him. He wasn't about to admit it, not in front of everyone, but there was a small crack in his resolve, a flicker of hesitation.
With a final, venomous glare at Oliver, Theodore turned on his heel, his movements sharp and full of frustration. He stormed off toward the edge of the pitch, his cloak billowing behind him like a dark cloud, leaving Eleanor standing in the aftermath of his fury.
For a moment, Eleanor felt rooted to the spot, as if her legs had forgotten how to move. She wanted to run after him, to pull him back, to grab his hand and tell him they could figure this out together. She wanted to say something, anything, that would make this right. But her legs felt frozen, and her voice lodged in her throat, weighed down by the weight of what had just transpired.
Her eyes followed Theodore's retreating form, the darkness closing in around him as he marched further away. The storm within him was so strong that it left a wake of silence behind him, and all she could do was stand there, powerless to stop it. The boy she loved was slipping away, and she didn't know how to reach him.
Draco and Blaise followed after Theodore, their movements slow, almost reluctant, as if they too felt the gravity of what had just happened. They exchanged a brief glance with Eleanor, but neither of them spoke as they walked away, their presence fading into the night.
Eleanor stood alone for a moment, her chest tight with the ache of everything left unsaid. Her breath came in shallow, shaky exhales, and the distant murmur of the crowd felt muted, like it was happening miles away.
Then, Pansy's warm and reassuring hand slipped into hers. Pansy didn't say anything at first, simply holding her hand as they began to walk, matching Eleanor's slow, hesitant pace. The familiar comfort of Pansy's presence helped steady her, but it couldn't stop the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her: fear, frustration, sadness, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness.
"He'll come around," Pansy said softly after a few moments, her voice gentle but certain. She gave Eleanor's hand a squeeze. "He just needs time to cool off." Pansy's words were merely for Eleanor. She knew how much Pansy hated Theodore and all the stuff he made her put up with.
Eleanor nodded, though she wasn't sure she believed it. Theodore's anger, wild eyes, and harsh words burned into her mind, making it hard to imagine him coming back from this.
Pansy glanced sideways at her, her face set in a rare expression of concern. "You're thinking too much again," she said softly, almost teasing, but the weight of the situation kept her tone serious. "Theo's always been intense, you know that. He'll regret this once he cools down."
"I don't know, Pansy," Eleanor muttered, her voice hollow. "This felt...different. He wasn't just angry, he was furious. At me." She swallowed hard, her throat tightening. "He's never been like that before."
Pansy gave a small shrug, though Eleanor could see the worry in her friend's eyes. "You know how he is with all the pressure. With his family. His father's always breathing down his neck. You two have been through worse, right?"
Eleanor wasn't sure if that was true. The arguments she and Theodore had before felt small in comparison to this. This felt like something had cracked, like there was a fissure growing between them that might not be fixable. She had always known the burdens he carried, the expectations and responsibilities that came with being a Nott. But today, he had taken it out on her in a way that made her wonder if she was part of that burden.
*****
The parties that followed winning a Quidditch game were always extravagant affairs, filled with loud music, laughter, and endless bottles of Firewhisky smuggled in from who knows where. The Slytherin common room would usually be draped in green and silver, enchanted banners floating above their heads, with students celebrating into the early hours of the morning. Normally, Eleanor would be at the center of it all, grinning alongside her housemates, basking in the victory, and maybe sneaking a dance with Theodore before disappearing together into a quieter corner.
But tonight was different.
Eleanor's heart wasn't in it as she prepared for the party. The Quidditch victory celebrations were usually one of the highlights of the school year, a chance to let loose and revel in the triumph with friends and fellow Slytherins. But tonight, the thought of mingling with everyone while her relationship with Theodore was in shambles felt impossible.
She slipped into her usual party dress, a simple, short black number that she wore often. It was a staple in her wardrobe, comfortable yet stylish enough for most events. Tonight, though, it felt more like a costume than an outfit. The magic spell she used to brush her hair left it smooth and sleek, but the familiar motions felt mechanical. She applied her mascara and eyeliner swiftly, and a touch of lip gloss completed her look. Her reflection in the mirror was an image of someone who looked ready for a party but wasn't quite herself.
Eleanor turned to Pansy, who had been watching her with a mixture of concern and support. "I'm going to head to Theodore's room," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to try and apologize. Maybe we can talk things through."
Pansy's eyes widened slightly at the mention of a direct confrontation, but softened immediately. "You're not going alone," she said firmly. "I'm coming with you. You shouldn't face this alone."
With a nod, they left their room, which was conveniently located right off the common room, and stepped into the lively atmosphere of the party that had already begun. The common room was a whirlwind of green and silver, with students mingling, dancing, and celebrating. The air was filled with the warm hum of conversation and laughter, mingling with the vibrant notes of music.
As they made their way through the crowd, Eleanor could feel the pulse of the party all around her, the thrum of music, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter that cut through the din. It felt like a world away from the turmoil she was experiencing, and she couldn't help but feel out of place among the revelers.
Eventually, they reached Theodore's door. Eleanor took a deep breath, her hand hovering over the door handle. Her nerves were on edge, and she could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Beside her, Pansy placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, a silent promise of support.
"Ready?" Pansy asked softly.
After a moment, she heard a shuffling from inside the room. The door creaked open, revealing Theodore standing on the other side. His face was a mix of surprise and what could only be described as frustration. His brows furrowed as he took in the sight of her and Pansy.
"Hey," Eleanor said, her voice trembling slightly. "Can we talk?"
She began to walk into the room, her heart pounding with both hope and dread. But as she crossed the threshold, her steps faltered, and her breath caught in her throat. Theodore's room, dimly lit and cluttered with personal items, had an unexpected guest.
Daphne Greengrass was sitting on Theodore's bed, her posture relaxed but strikingly out of place. She was casually lounging, her dress slightly askew. Her expression was one of mild curiosity as she glanced from Theodore to Eleanor. The sight felt like a punch to Eleanor's gut, and she was overwhelmed by a wave of hurt and confusion.
Unable to contain her emotions, Eleanor's voice broke into a desperate scream. "Are you fucking kidding me!" she yelled, her anger and pain echoing off the walls. "After everything we've been through, Theo!"
The shout reverberated through the room, causing Pansy to rush in behind Eleanor. Her face was a mask of fury, her eyes blazing as she took in the scene. It was clear that Pansy's anger was even more intense than Eleanor's, and her protective instincts kicked in fiercely.
Pansy's gaze locked onto Daphne, and her expression hardened with a mix of disdain and fury. "You slut!" she spat, her voice sharp as she charged toward the witch on the bed.
Theodore moved quickly, stepping between Pansy and Daphne with a firm, protective stance. His face was a mixture of frustration and desperation as he tried to defuse the escalating situation. "Pansy, stop!" he ordered, his voice tense.
Pansy's eyes flashed with indignation. "Don't protect her!" she demanded, her voice shaking with rage. "She's the one who's been causing trouble!"
Eleanor stood behind Pansy, her hands clenched into fists, her heart pounding with the weight of the confrontation. The room was filled with a charged, almost palpable tension. Theodore's attempts to calm Pansy only seemed to heighten the sense of chaos, and Daphne appeared uncomfortable in the middle of the storm.
Theodore's eyes met Eleanor's, and for a moment, it seemed like he was searching for the right words to explain, or at least justify, Daphne's presence. But the words seemed to elude him, and instead, he focused on trying to manage Pansy's explosive reaction.
Before Pansy could finish her sentence, Theodore's expression hardened, and he cut her off with a commanding tone. "Get out," he said, his voice firm and unyielding. He directed the order at both Pansy and Eleanor, and his frustration was evident as he tried to regain control of the situation.
The abruptness of his command hung in the air, a stark contrast to the emotional storm that had erupted moments earlier. Eleanor felt her heart drop at Theodore's words, a mixture of shock and hurt crashing over her. She glanced at Pansy, whose face was a mask of disbelief and rage.
"Theo, you can't-" Eleanor started to protest, her voice trembling as she struggled to process the enormity of the situation.
"Get out," he repeated
"Whatever, you don't need this, Eleanor. You don't need him," Pansy said sharply, her voice laced with anger and frustration. She grabbed Eleanor's arm with a firm grip, her fingers digging in as she pulled her away from Theodore. The determination in Pansy's movements was palpable, a protective force in the face of the emotional turmoil.
Eleanor stumbled slightly as Pansy guided her out of the room, her heart aching with every step. The confrontation with Theodore had left her feeling raw and exposed, and Pansy's forceful intervention was a jarring reminder of how deeply the situation had affected her.
As they walked down the corridor, Pansy's words echoed in the quiet space between them. "Those two deserve each other," she said bitterly, her voice carrying a note of disdain. The words were a harsh reflection of her own hurt and anger, and Eleanor could feel the sting of them even as she tried to process everything that had happened.
The noise of the party, which had seemed distant before, grew louder as they neared the common room. The lively chatter and music felt almost like an assault on Eleanor's senses, a stark contrast to the emotional upheaval she was experiencing. Pansy's grip on her arm was unyielding, a constant reminder of the support and anger that was fueling her actions.
Eleanor walked into the bustling common room, her heart still heavy from the confrontation with Theodore. Her eyes scanned the crowd until she spotted Blaise and Draco standing near the drinks table, engaged in an animated conversation. Determined to put on a brave face and distract herself from the emotional storm, she strode purposefully toward them.
Without a word, she reached out and grabbed the drink right out of Draco's hand. The drink was a deep amber, probably a spiked concoction meant to keep the party lively. Eleanor lifted it to her lips and downed it in one swift motion, the sharp taste burning down her throat but providing a fleeting sense of release.
Draco's eyes widened in surprise, a mix of amusement and curiosity dancing across his face as he watched her. Blaise, noticing the sudden change in Eleanor's demeanor, raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
Eleanor set the empty glass down on the table with a determined clink. She forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil she was feeling. "Who's ready to party?"