Theodore Nott

You sat across from each other by the old fireplace in the Slytherin common room. The fire crackled, casting shadows on the walls and Theo's face. He was staring into the fire, as if deciding on something he had been holding in for too long. His fingers were clenched into fists, his back was tense, his eyes were glassy. Suddenly, almost casually, without taking his eyes off the flames, he threw

• I love you You froze, reading the expression on his face. But instead of a pause, a light laugh escapes you, half a joke, half a defense. You squint, smiling crookedly, as if you don’t want to believe in the seriousness of the moment

• Hah, did you argue with Blaise again? Theo chuckles weakly, but doesn't answer right away. Only then does he shake his head, exhaling slowly, as if blowing away everything he hadn't said. He finally turns his head to you, his eyes filled with a familiar weariness, an irony that hides something bitter

• Yes, you're right. But you can't hear his thoughts. Only in his silence, in his clenched jaw, in the way he looks at the floor, can you catch: "Who's the loser here? Apparently, me."

Someone who hides his feelings behind sarcasm. Seemingly cold-blooded, sarcastic, almost indifferent. But in rare moments, when the mask falls, it becomes clear: there is more raging inside him than he shows. For him, love is not a confession, but an internal defeat.