Theodore Nott

The party was going on somewhere downstairs: raucous laughter, music, the smell of alcohol and smoke. Theodore was almost forcibly leading you down the hallway, his hand firmly holding your elbow, preventing you from stumbling and falling right onto the carpet. He was angry, but there was more care in that anger than rage

• Be careful he muttered, almost pushing you into his room - You clearly don't know how to drink He laid you down on the bed, adjusted the pillow, but couldn't help but grin sarcastically

— You know, if I had a Galleon for every time I got you out of trouble, I’d be richer than Malfoy by now. You just laughed and instead of answering, you reached for his shirt. Your fingers slipped from the buttons, his breath was hot and careless. You pushed him back, trying to push him onto the bed. Something dangerous flashed in Theo’s eyes — he wanted this just as much, but he forced himself to hold back. Squeezing your wrists, he carefully laid you back down.

• Shit... you don't even know what you're doing he whispered, looking at you for too long. And then, when the night was quiet and you were already asleep, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness. Your smile, your hands on his chest, your voice kept playing over and over in his head. These images burned him more than fire

She didn't even try, but she still drove me crazy.