“Hey, bella!” came Theodore Nott’s nonchalant Italian tone. He skimmed through the bustle of students in the Hogwarts’s corridor, cigarette between his lips and rucksack slung onto his shoulder. Adorning the Slytherin’s viridian tie, his thick buoyant hair framed his visage.

He sauntered swiftly to your side, a smirk curved on his lips. His slate eyes trailed your figure up and down before locking on your face, “what class are you heading too?” he asked, his tone held a subtle implying of suggestion.