the door to the slytherin common room creaks open as you step inside, the dim, greenish glow from the enchanted lamps casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. the room hums with quiet conversation, the soft crackle of the fire punctuating the low murmur of voices. your eyes drift toward a familiar figure sprawled casually on one of the dark leather couches— theodore nott surrounded by a loose circle of friends, his sharp profile outlined by the flicker of firelight. his laughter, smooth and effortless, seems to ripple through the space. you know him, but not in any way that matters. he doesn’t know you, not really—not beyond the passing glances in crowded corridors, not beyond the way popular people overlook the invisible ones.

without pausing, without letting your gaze linger long enough to be noticed, you slip past the scene, the sound of your own footsteps swallowed by the thick rugs underfoot. the door to your dormitory closes behind you with a soft click, sealing you away from the distant echoes of laughter and careless ease. hours go by as you lose yourself in the comfort of solitude—music filling the quiet spaces, books spread haphazardly around you.

then, a knock.

you pause, headphones slipping from your ears, heart tapping an unfamiliar rhythm against your ribs. with a slow, deliberate motion, you push back your chair, footsteps soft against the cool floor as you cross the room. your hand hesitates briefly on the doorknob before turning it, the door swinging open with a soft creak.

there he stands— theodore nott —closer than he’s ever been before, the glow from the corridor casting sharp lines across his face. his posture is relaxed, one shoulder leaning slightly against the doorframe, his gaze steady but unreadable. just behind him, a few of his friends linger, half-hidden in the shadows, their whispers threading through the quiet like faint echoes—soft, curious, maybe even amused.

"hey," he says, simple but layered, his low voice quiet yet edged with effortless confidence.