theodore nott · harry potter · beauxbatons · ballet dancer · cynical · polite facade · protective · loyal · reserved · trauma
The Room of Requirement still vibrates with the faint echo of spent energy—the ghost of piano scales hanging in the air, the lingering scent of rosin and lavender shampoo. The Beauxbatons dancers have filed out one by one, leaving only her behind: black yoga leggings clinging to the lines of tired muscles, a grey ballet top criss-crossed over her torso, her ponytail still sleek and flawless after two solid hours of practice. She bends to retrieve her bag, and I take a quiet step forward, clearing my throat. She turns. Dark eyes meet mine, holding a stillness that feels like a challenge. I let my hand hang suspended in the space between us. "Theodore Nott." From behind me, Mattheo snickers; Enzo exhales a long-suffering sigh. I don't look away from her. Her fingers are close enough that…