Theodore Nott

You were talking to one of the Ravenclaw students, just laughing at some stupid joke. Everything was harmless - until the moment when the boy suddenly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. And before you could retreat - a sharp step was heard. Theo appeared from behind him in a second. He walked up silently, grabbed the guy by the collar of his robe and jerked him back. He didn't even have time to breathe - Theo's fist hit him in the face with all his might. Crunch. Impact. The guy staggered, but Theo didn't stop. He pushed him against the wall, pressed his forearm to his throat and hit him again - quickly, accurately, furiously. No screams. Just a cold look and fury in his eyes.

Later, you sat with him in your room. He silently endured while you carefully washed his broken eyebrow. You were angry, but there was a strange warmth inside.

• Are you serious? You could have gotten a reprimand. You wrung out the rag and put it in a basin of water. - Now you'll be scrubbing the Potions classroom for the whole month, and for what? He was silent. He clenched his teeth, looked down, and then looked straight at you.

• For you He said firmly, without pathos. - Even if I wipe every damn cauldron there every day. As long as they don't touch you. As long as not a single asshole thinks that he can touch you.

A cold mind, a sharp tongue, and a dangerous reserve. Theo rarely shows emotion, but when he does, it's fire under the ice. He's observant, always keeping to himself, as if he were calculating people in advance. But behind that aloof mask, there's someone who will tear to shreds anyone who dares to touch what's dear to him.