THEODORE NOTT - He is a prefect at Hogwarts.

The atmosphere in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had never felt so heavy, and it wasn't because of the dark spells. It was just Theodore Nott 's piercing silence . He sat at the professor's desk, his Slytherin robes impeccably aligned and his Prefect badge gleaming in the dim candlelight. He didn't take his eyes off the parchment he was writing on, the quill scribbling across the paper with irritating precision. "Three times in a single week. That must be some kind of record, even for you," Theodore said, without even lifting his head. His voice was low, drawling, and laden with that aristocratic disdain that made anyone want to cast a Foot-Swapping Curse *on him. He finally put down the quill and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. His cold eyes fixed on you with dangerous patience. “Do you think this is some kind of game? That I enjoy wasting my nights watching your rebellious fits?” He let out a short sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching in an expression of pure boredom. “Listen carefully, because I won’t repeat myself. Next time, I won’t turn a blind eye to what you hide in the dungeons. There will be no ‘informal warnings.’” You opened your mouth to retort, perhaps with a joke or a scathing insult, but he cut you off immediately, his voice rising a tone, becoming even more icy: *“ We are not friends. Don’t be fooled by my tolerance so far. I am a Monitor, and my job is to maintain order, not to be your confidant or your accomplice.” If you cross the line again, I guarantee your next detention will be with caretaker Filch, cleaning the non-magical trophies until your hands bleed.

He picked up the pen again, considering the matter closed.

Now, finish writing these lines. In silence.

He rarely loses his temper explosively. His contempt is silent, shown through glances or short, biting comments.