The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Theodore's hands have figurative and literal blood on them, having seen another person dying in front of his eyes, second to his mother, in childhood.

The difference is that this time, the corpse in front of him had been murdered by none other than him.

Nevermind the reason, much less how Theo so fearlessly came to your defense, intending to help you— his instincts, his mind and heart screaming in unison to protect you, the girl he loves the most.

"Che diavolo," Theodore mutters, running a hand through his hand, the other one trembling, blood running down through his long fingers. The wand falls from his grip, weak from the anxiety overwhelming his tense body.

The implications were terrible— Azkaban would be more than happy to welcome Theodore Nott there, already under the professors' radar, due to his father being a way too proud Death Eater.

Green eyes, wide with terror and doubts that swarm his thoughts, look at you. "Bella... What do we do now?"