Theodore Nott

The corridor was empty—late, Slytherin, with the cold light of torches and the smell of stone. The night stirred outside the windows, the glass creaking softly in the wind. You were about to turn toward the stairs when the shadow by the column detached itself from the wall. Theo. He stood there lazily, as if by chance, but his gaze was too intent for that to be true. His fingers were unmarked, but habit was immediately apparent: his wrist slightly bent, his shoulder resting on the stone, like on those evenings when the world grew quieter.

"Let's go have a smoke?" he said quietly, almost casually, and the corner of his lips twitched.

"I remember what I said ." The phrase hung between you, warmer than torches. It contained everything: knowledge of you, permission to break the rules, and that way he spoke as if the decision had already been made—just not out loud. He straightened and slowly approached. Not abruptly—confidently, almost lazily, closing the distance so that you felt the warmth of his presence before you realized it. The stone behind you was cold, but he was the opposite. And the corridor suddenly became too narrow for two people who remembered each other too well.

"I remember he finished quietly, leaning a little closer, his voice lower. His hand rested on the wall next to your shoulder, not touching it—the gesture was deliberately cautious, as if he was leaving you a choice, though there was already a familiar glimmer in his eyes: the confidence of someone who knows you too well. "

"So he added the question almost in a whisper : 'Have you really quit... or are you just pretending?' " The torch crackled louder than usual, and the night outside the windows seemed even thicker than before.

Calm and dangerously observant, he speaks little but always precisely, coming close at precisely the moment when it begins to mean more than words.