Sera stepped into the grand ballroom, the opulence nearly suffocating. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, shimmering in the candlelight, and the polished marble floors gleamed like liquid gold. Everywhere she turned, witches and wizards cloaked in elegant, expensive robes floated through the space, the air thick with a heady mixture of perfume and old magic. Sera had been to fine events before, but this—this was different. This was enemy territory.
Her dress, a sleek emerald gown Theo had insisted on, hugged her frame and made her feel both powerful and exposed. She had pinned her hair in a sophisticated twist, but the ache in her scalp was nothing compared to the tension winding through her muscles. The room buzzed with old families, each one a reminder of everything she wasn't.
Her senses were sharp, cataloging every detail: the way the Carrow's were holding court, their haughty laughs like knives in the room; the group of older pureblood men in a corner, murmuring about politics and "the good old days" with a sneer that made her skin crawl. Sera was observant, clever, always prepared to see through the masks these people wore. But tonight, every shadow seemed a threat, every whisper a reminder of the attacks that had stolen another Squib's life.
Theo leaned down, his lips close to her ear. "You're holding your glass like it's a dagger," he said, his voice soft with humor. She managed a smile, but it felt brittle.
"I feel like I might need one," she replied lightly, eyes darting to a nearby witch whose eyes narrowed as she assessed Sera, no doubt wondering who she was and why she had the gall to be here. "These people aren't exactly my crowd."
Theo's hand grazed her lower back, a grounding touch. "I've got you," he murmured. He said it as if it were simple, a matter of fact. But to Sera, there was no simplicity in this world. His support was a rope she couldn't trust herself to grip too tightly, no matter how desperately she wanted to.
Her gaze traveled across the room, landing on Barton Carrow himself, resplendent in deep blue velvet, holding a glass of wine as if the world belonged to him. The sight of him made Sera's spine stiffen. She couldn't forget the role his family had played in the dark past—and, as Theo had revealed, in the emerging one as well. Every instinct screamed at her to get out of there, to protect herself from the judgment and danger simmering beneath the surface of this elegant affair.
But running wasn't in her nature. Sera didn't like feeling afraid; she liked even less letting others see it. Her pride, her armor, was as much a part of her as her stubborn heart. So, she tipped her chin up, straightened her posture, and took another sip of her wine, even though her throat felt tight.
"You're braver than they'll ever understand," Theo said, catching her off guard. His words were quiet, for her alone, and she found herself glancing up at him, startled by the sincerity in his eyes.
A momentary crack split through her defenses, a flash of vulnerability she couldn't quite conceal. She didn't want to need his reassurance. She didn't want to feel the warmth that his gaze brought, didn't want to be reminded that she was human, that she was deserving of protection and kindness. But the truth, unbidden, swelled in her chest. The attacks on Squibs were escalating. Elena, a young woman Sera had once met in a bookshop, was now gone, her life snuffed out simply because she'd been born without magic.
Sera swallowed the lump in her throat, willing herself to stay strong. "I don't belong here," she whispered, and it was more of a confession than she intended. She wasn't just talking about the party; she meant this world, this life constantly balanced on a knife's edge.
Theo's grip on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly. "Then we'll make our own space," he said firmly, a promise wrapped in quiet defiance. But Sera knew the world wasn't that simple. The space she occupied would never truly be accepted, and every breath she took here felt like defiance.
Barton Carrow's voice cut through the buzz of the ballroom, dripping with a kind of arrogant disdain that had Sera's hands tightening around her empty glass. He raised his chin, the light catching on the polished family crest pinned to his robes. "The problem," Barton announced, "is that the Ministry is too soft, too willing to give rights to those who don't deserve them. Squibs, Muggle-borns—parasites, the lot of them. Clinging to the world we've built, leeching off our heritage."
The crowd around him murmured in agreement, a ripple of nods and chuckles. They twisted like a knife in Sera's gut. Her mind screamed at her to do something, to say something, but her body refused to obey. The realization that she was surrounded—outnumbered and outclassed in magical power—rooted her to the spot. Barton didn't know. He thought she was one of them, that her surname, Blackwood, offered her protection, a cloak of purity she had never wanted but wore now like a shield.
Before she could muster the courage to respond, Theo's voice sliced through the air, cold and lethal. "It's thinking like that which nearly destroyed our world, Carrow."
A hush fell over the nearby guests, heads swiveling toward Theo in shock. He had stepped forward, his expression a mask of controlled fury. His eyes were ice, but there was fire in his words, burning away the brittle façade of neutrality so many pure-bloods clung to.
Barton sneered. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by that, Nott?" His tone was condescending, as if he were indulging a petulant child.
Theo took a step closer, his presence commanding. "I mean that people like you, who cling to ancient prejudices, are the true parasites. Our world will never heal if we continue to judge and oppress those who had no choice in their birthright." His voice was steady, but Sera could see the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders.
Barton's smile faltered. "I'd watch my words if I were you," he said, his tone dangerously low. "You sound like a blood traitor."
Theo's expression didn't change. "Maybe I am," he shot back, his voice unwavering. "Maybe it's time more of us stood against the poison you spew." The silence that followed was deafening, a stunned collective intake of breath from the crowd.
Sera's heart thundered in her chest, a mix of pride and fear churning inside her. Theo had just made a powerful enemy, but he had also given her a glimpse of the man he was—a man willing to fight for what was right, even if it meant standing against his bloodline.
The ball resumed its chatter and laughter after an awkward beat. Theo turned to Sera, his gaze searching hers. She managed a small nod, gratitude and something deeper swelling in her chest.
Later that night, Sera and Theo sat in her small, Muggle flat, the warmth of her space a sharp contrast to the cold splendor of the Carrow Soirée. They had shed their formal wear—Theo shirtless in his boxers and Sera in comfortable leggings and an oversized shirt. The television flickered quietly in the background.
She watched him as he poured the steaming liquid into mismatched mugs, his movements deliberate. The weight of what he'd done that evening hung in the air between them, unspoken but palpable.
"You didn't have to do that," she said softly, breaking the silence. "Stand up to him."
Theo placed her mug in front of her and sat down, his gaze somber. "Yes, I did," he replied. "If I didn't, I'd be no better than them. Silence is complicity."
Sera's throat tightened. The man before her was a tapestry of contradictions: the quiet, analytical wizard who had been shaped by darkness but refused to be consumed by it. The Theo who sent her flowers, who read the book she recommended, who defended people like her, even if he didn't yet know she was one of them.
Emotion surged through her, uncontainable. Before she could think twice, she reached out, her fingers brushing his. "I love you," she whispered, the words slipping free, raw and vulnerable. She hadn't planned to say it, but it felt right. It felt inevitable.
Theo's eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face, followed by something softer, something she hadn't dared hope to see. He swallowed, his voice thick with emotion. "Sera…"
She squeezed his hand, her heart pounding. "You don't have to say it back," she said quickly, her voice trembling. "I just needed you to know."
But Theo leaned closer, cupping her face in his hands, his touch gentle but sure. "I love you too," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. His words were a promise.
Their kiss was soft, full of everything they couldn't yet say. For the first time in a long time, Sera let herself believe in happiness, even if it was fleeting. For now, it was enough.