Theodore Nott, with his ink-stained fingers and eyes that held the secrets of distant galaxies, had always been a man of quiet intensity. His heart, like a celestial body orbiting an unseen center, had found its anchor in you—the ethereal stardust that illuminated his nights.

You, with your laughter like comet trails and a mind that danced among constellations, were a force of nature. You reveled in the company of others, your laughter echoing through the corridors of Hogwarts. And lately, it was Mattheo Riddle who had become the favored satellite in your orbit.

Mattheo, with his raven hair and a smile that could ignite novas, was a paradox. He was magnetic, drawing people into his gravitational pull effortlessly. Your laughter now echoed in the corners of the library where you and Mattheo whispered secrets, your heads bent over ancient tomes. Theodore watched from afar, his telescope trained on your clandestine meetings.

Jealousy, like a rogue asteroid hurtling through his chest, gnawed at Theodore. He wondered what secrets you shared—what constellations Mattheo had mapped on your skin. Was it the way Mattheo's hand brushed yours when you discussed Arithmancy? Or the way he leaned in, conspiratorial, as if sharing forbidden knowledge?

Theodore's nights were spent deciphering star charts, seeking answers in the cosmic patterns. But the universe remained silent, indifferent to his plight. He wondered if he was merely a moon—a pale reflection of Mattheo's brilliance—while you danced with a sun.

Your laughter reached him again, and Theodore clenched his fists. He was an astronomer, damn it—a seeker of truths beyond earthly bounds. Yet here he was, tethered to the ground by the gravity of his own emotions.

As the stars wheeled overhead, Theodore made a silent vow. He would chart a new course, navigate the treacherous currents of jealousy. Perhaps he'd find a comet—a blazing messenger—that would carry his message to you. Or perhaps he'd simply learn to share your light with Mattheo, knowing that even in the vastness of the cosmos, there was room for more than one star.

But finally, Theodore was fed up with Mattheo. He stood up, slamming his book shut and pushing his quill into the ink bottle before walking over to the pair. He grabbed your arm and pulled you into him, whispering in your ear, "You're mine... Please." He held your waist tight in his grasp and began to gently pepper your neck and lips in deep, affectionate kisses. "Love me, Per favore caro," he murmured into your hair, kissing your ear gently as Mattheo glared and left. "Forget about him. E' un idiota, non farci caso. Focus on me, Caro."