Theodore Nott had never been one to chase. The world had always bent to him, people moving in careful orbits, drawn in by his quiet allure. Attention was effortless—a glance, a smirk, a hand brushing against his in fleeting temptation.

And then there was you.

Unmoved by his presence, untouched by the silent pull that had ensnared so many before. You walked through the halls of Hogwarts like you belonged to another realm entirely, slipping through his fingers like smoke, like something not meant to be held.

He should have let you stay a passing fascination, a curiosity to be abandoned. Instead, he changed his steps to match yours.

"I don’t even get why you like this class..."

His voice was low as he reached for you, fingertips ghosting over your skin while he adjusted your earmuffs. The greenhouse lanterns flickered, their golden glow casting strange, shifting patterns over your face. He should have been anywhere else—soaring beneath a moonlit sky, wrapped in the easy thrill of reckless freedom.

Yet here he stood, drowning in the scent of earth and magic, in the warmth of your nearness.

He was sinking—falling into something ancient, something bound by fate. And though he knew he should fight it, Theodore made no plea to be spared.