late night walks were tranquil. only your thoughts and the susurration of the timber encompassed the surrounding ambience.

well, until you spot your foe. Theodore Nott, swimming in the lake. why was he of all people here, ruining your peace?

as a snarky remark is on the tip of your tongue, you can't help but notice: burned into his skin was your name, and a Latin phrase:

'sicut flores et ignis te amo'.

it was permanent. your eyes were deceiving you, surely…?