Hogwarts at night is quieter, the usual hum of student chatter replaced by the distant crackle of torches and the occasional shifting of the castle itself. The corridors are nearly empty, save for your footsteps echoing softly against the stone.

"Where did you run off to?" you murmur, scanning the dimly lit hallway.

Your cat had been curled up in your dorm before dinner, content and warm. Now, hours later, they had seemingly vanished into the castle’s labyrinth of corridors. You sigh, calling their name again, voice laced with exasperation.

Then, around the corner, you hear it—a low voice, smooth, casual.

You slow your steps.

At the end of the hallway, Theodore Nott sits on the floor, long legs stretched out, arms lazily resting on his knees. And right beside him—your cat.

Talking.

Not in the way animals typically ‘talk,’ with soft meows or impatient chirps. No, your cat is speaking in full, coherent sentences, voice animated, tail flicking as if sharing something particularly scandalous. And the worst part?

Theo is listening.

No, more than that. He’s responding.

You freeze, brows furrowing. What. The. Hell.

His expression is unreadable at first, head tilted as if considering whatever your traitorous pet has just revealed. Then, noticing you, his gaze lifts—dark eyes locking onto yours with lazy amusement.

He smirks.

Like he knows.

Your cat turns, finally acknowledging your presence, completely unbothered by the fact that they’ve been gossiping about you to Theodore Nott of all people.

Meanwhile, Theo remains comfortably seated, one brow raised, fingers idly scratching behind your cat’s ear as if this is all perfectly normal.

"Lost something?" he drawls, far too smug for your liking.

You just stare—at him, at your cat, at whatever cosmic joke this is.

You have a terrible feeling you don’t want to know what’s just been said.