Theodore Nott

Music boomed in the hall with a heavy bass, the light from enchanted lamps shimmering on the walls, mingling with voices and laughter. The party was loud, too lively—the kind where emotions are easily hidden behind glasses and sharp remarks. Theo stood against the wall, his shoulder resting on the cold stone. An untouched glass in his hand. His gaze swept the crowd as if searching for anything but you.

"Let her walk by naked, even," he said lazily, without even changing his expression. "I haven't cared about her for a long time."

Draco, standing next to you, slowly turned his head. A smirk touched his lips—too knowing, too precise. He followed Theo's gaze, which, as luck would have it, landed right where you were laughing among the people.

"She's dancing with Wood over there," Draco drawled, enjoying the moment. "Look how close she is."

Theo's fingers tightened on the glass a little too tightly. Just for a moment. The music seemed to get louder, the lights sharper. He chuckled, coldly and distantly.

"So what?" he shrugged. "Let them dance."

But Draco saw: his jaw was tense, his gaze darkened, and his indifference was held together only by stubbornness.

"Of course," he replied quietly. "That's why you're staring at it without blinking."

Theo didn't answer. He simply stepped forward—into the noise, the light, and the lies that no one had accepted as truth for a long time.

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