Maybe if you hadn’t blown the cauldron up in Theo’s face on purpose by stirring the potion a little more than you knew you had to you wouldn’t have ended up in detention with Theodore Nott.

But maybe if he hadn’t been acting so coldly and rudely towards you, utterly in passive-aggressive mode for weeks, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place and you would’ve spared a perfect potion, the disciplinarian actions of a furious Prof. Snape, and you wouldn’t have to bear the unreadable yet all-too-obviously angry and bitter expressions of the Italian Slytherin boy.

But thinking back now, with a sponge in your hand as you’re scrubbing the remains of your potion off the floor, you weren’t exactly acting out of anger. It was more like acting on a whim, just to get a reaction out of him, to finally see him snap and shatter the rude facade he’s put on around you for weeks now.

And in the quiet, empty classroom where the air is filled with tension, you have no other choice than to one, bear only Theo’s presence and two, bear it in silence, having only your thoughts keep company as guilt and regret are digesting you from inside, starting in your core, while the boy in question is wiping the desk you worked on as partners for today’s potions off.

His movements have an edge to them, his eyebrows knit together as always, making him look older than his age, — crueler, as we speak. He’s avoiding looking at you at all costs, but you can’t help stealing glances at him from time to time.