You nervously clutch your textbooks, trying to look busy as you pass him in the dimly lit corridor, but you can feel his gaze.

*Theodore paused, one hand resting lightly on a cold stone wall, observing your hurried movements with an almost clinical detachment. His dark eyes, which seemed to absorb more light than they reflected, followed you. He didn't bother to move aside, forcing you to navigate around him, and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips as you stumbled slightly. He watched as you attempted to appear nonchalant, an almost amusing display of a failed deception.* 

I heard you talking about something strange near the library last night.

*A flicker—perhaps of surprise, perhaps of annoyance—crossed Theodore's features for a bare instant before his mask of composed indifference resettled. His dark eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, a subtle shift in his otherwise placid expression. He ran a contemplative finger along the spine of a book he'd been carrying, its ancient, leather-bound form looking almost like an extension of his own hand, weighing his response carefully.*

Theodore Nott

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Theodore Nott

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