Sera's heart was lighter, a strange, unfamiliar buoyancy threading through her veins. She had spent the evening before at Nott Manor, sharing a meal in the grand dining room lit by floating chandeliers, a warmth in her chest she hadn't felt in years. And, of course, there had been the kiss—a moment that still sent a thrill through her when she thought about it, leaving her both exhilarated and terrified.
She paused outside a small café, exhaling slowly as she recalled the way Theo had looked at her. His gaze had been unguarded. Happiness, she realized, was a feeling she had almost forgotten how to trust. Her life had been built on vigilance, on protecting herself from a world that judged her for the magic she lacked. And yet, with Theo, she felt herself daring to want more.
But wanting more came with risks. If this fragile, blooming connection with Theo were to survive, he deserved to know the truth. Yet, every time she tried to gather the courage, she faltered.
Not yet, she told herself. Just one more day.
Their relationship had grown in the days since Nott Manor. They had shared stolen moments and whispered conversations that felt like they belonged in a world that was theirs alone.
Theo had begun sending her flowers every day to her desk at the Ministry, each arrangement more intricate than the last. It had become such a norm that even the curious glances from her colleagues had come to an end, though she sometimes caught a few knowing smirks from those who seemed to enjoy the spectacle of Sera Blackwood, usually so fiercely guarded, blushing at the sight of a bouquet.
Their dates were a blend of the magical and the mundane. One evening, they had met in a quiet bookshop on the fringes of Diagon Alley. Theo had pulled a dusty tome from the shelves, a rare first edition on magical flora, and handed it to her with an almost shy smile. Their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity up her spine. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on hers, the way his eyes had lingered just a moment too long before he had pulled back.
On another afternoon, they'd wandered through Hyde Park, blending into the Muggle crowd. It was there, away from the watchful eyes of the wizarding world, that Sera had allowed herself to laugh more freely, to let her guard slip. Theo had reached out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch gentle, reverent. Her heart had stuttered, and she had turned away quickly, pretending to study a family of ducks on the water. But Theo had seen her blush, and he had smirked in that infuriating way of his, like he was beginning to understand the effect he had on her. They held hands the entire walk out of the park.
Sometimes, when they found themselves alone, the tension between them simmered in the air, a fragile thread waiting to snap. Theo would brush a thumb across her knuckles or trace idle patterns along her forearm when they sat close. She craved those moments, the feel of his touch, though she tried to hide how much she longed for it. His hands were always warm, grounding her when her thoughts became too tangled with worry.
There was one evening in particular she couldn't forget: they had found a small alcove in Knockturn Alley, a place she'd never have ventured to without him. The dim light cast shadows that seemed to whisper secrets, and Theo had leaned in, his mouth so close to hers she could feel his breath. "You're full of surprises, Blackwood," he had murmured, his voice low and teasing. And before she could stop herself, she had tilted her face up, their lips almost brushing, before a group of loud, drunken wizards stumbled past, breaking the spell. Theo had chuckled, a sound that made her insides twist, but the heat in his gaze hadn't faded.
Those moments felt like a reprieve from the heaviness of the secrets she carried. But they also made everything more complicated With all the time they spent together, close calls haunted her. The other day, Theo had mentioned wanting to teach her a simple charm. She'd made an excuse about needing to leave for an urgent meeting. The lie burned, but it was easier than seeing the inevitable disappointment on his face when he found out.
She hated the deception, hated how it made her feel like the impostor she'd always been branded as. But the alternative—admitting the truth and risking losing the happiness she had found—felt like a knife poised over her fragile heart.
Inside the café, she ordered a strong tea, the rich scent of bergamot and honey soothing her frayed nerves. Sera found a corner table, letting the warmth of her drink seep into her hands, but even that comfort couldn't quiet the storm in her mind. She watched as witches chattered over steaming cups, their wands flicking playfully in conversation. Envy curled at the edges of her happiness, whispering that she would never truly belong.
But then she thought of Theo, of the way he had been slowly dismantling the cynicism she wore like a shield, and she wondered if perhaps it was time to give up pretending. He was intelligent, observant—if he hadn't already guessed her secret, he was bound to soon.
Her chest tightened at the thought, her usual confidence wavering. Could she trust him with the truth? What if he recoiled, saw her as lesser, as so many others had? The scars of rejection ran deep, and she wasn't sure she could bear another one, especially not from him.
But for all her doubts, something undeniable had begun to take root within her: hope. A fragile, foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, there was space in this world for her to be seen for who she truly was, not defined by what she lacked. And if she wanted a chance at that, at something real with Theo, she knew she couldn't keep running from her truth.
Soon, she promised herself. I'll tell him soon.