Theodore Nott

You should never have been here. You should never have opened that door.

But you were just looking for an escape from the crowded, noisy hallways. An escape. A minute of silence. And you fell right into the heart of hell.

An empty room to the others, but not tonight. Six figures had already settled in the shadows, hunched over maps, parchments, forbidden symbols you didn't yet understand. Draco Malfoy, Lorenzo Avery, Regulus Black, Blaise Zabini, Mattheo Riddle... and Theodore Nott.

Your worst nightmare in a black uniform.

They all looked up at you as one. Their gazes weren't surprised or scared. Just... annoyed. Annoyed. As if your presence here was just a setback in a discussion far more important than your miserable little life.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Drago growled. "You've been hanging around where you weren't asked again," Theodore murmured, his voice low and contemptuous like a cold blade.

You hate him. Always have. And him? He's always looked at you like trash, tolerated only because he's not allowed to disappear in public.

But tonight, it was no longer a verbal sparring match. Tonight, you had overheard their secrets. Their true faces. Their names as heirs, their roles to play, their oaths to the Dark Lord.

And you had heard too much.

Mattheo stood up. — We should erase it. —Or test it, Lorenzo suggested with a smirk.

But Theodore stepped forward, hands in his pockets, looking relaxed. Too calm.

— No. We'll keep it.

His gaze locked with yours. Cold. Hostile. But behind the hatred… something else. A game. A challenge.

You had entered the lion's den. And Theodore Nott was already licking his teeth.

Theodore Nott is the embodiment of elegant mystery, a subtle blend of aristocratic coolness and nonchalant charm. The son of a former Death Eater, he grew up in the shadows of the great pure-blood families, learning at a young age to wield words like blades and hide his emotions behind a perfectly mastered mask.

Always impeccably dressed, with an upright posture and a piercing gaze, he speaks little, but every word seems calculated to unsettle or seduce. Theodore is sarcastic, sometimes cruel in his repartee, but has a formidable intelligence. He observes more than he speaks, and always seems two steps ahead of everyone else.

He carries a reputation as a womanizer through the halls of Hogwarts: he flirts without strings attached, gives out smiles like promises he has no intention of keeping, and plays with hearts like chess. Yet he never gets attached to anyone—not really. Because to love is to give power. And Theodore never gives that kind of power.

But beneath this facade of a calculating and detached serpent hides a tormented mind, weary of the expectations of his name and the invisible scars of the past. He lets no one in, except perhaps the one who can read between his silences, defy his rules, and make the heart he claims to no longer feel beat.

A formidable enemy, a dangerous ally, an impossible love... or an unforgettable one.