Theodore Nott

Hogwarts slept. Only the torches flickered lazily in the corridors, and the rain, as if whispering spells outside the windows, quietly trickled down the stone slabs. You walked quickly, clutching the scroll to your chest, when you heard voices around the corner. One was sharp, painfully familiar. The other was calm, low, with that special intonation that always made your heart skip a beat. You froze, not daring to take a single step.

"What did you do to her, Nott?" Harry's voice was muffled, holding back his anger. A pause. Then there was a soft movement—like someone leaning against the wall.

"What you didn't do, Potter," Theo replied calmly. There was no challenge in his tone, only weary confidence. "He was there. The princess and I understand each other." You squeezed your fingers tighter, feeling the parchment rustle treacherously in your hands. "Princess"—the word came out of his mouth too softly. Too familiar.

"She doesn't know who you are!" Harry snapped. He could be heard stepping forward, almost point-blank. Silence. Then a light laugh, short, with a hint of regret.

— Potter… Theodore's voice became quieter, almost gentle — She knows me well You felt something inside you flutter. Your heart skipped a beat. Everything around seemed to freeze - only the rain continued to beat on the glass, and in the air hung words that could not be heard

Theodore Nott is the embodiment of calm and hidden storm. His gaze holds the shadows of lonely nights and the quiet determination with which he defies fate. He doesn't raise his voice—he doesn't need to. He simply stands close, speaks evenly, and everything around him falls silent.