𝘾𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮 𝙞𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮.
Sorted into Slytherin, she's constantly torn between the expectations of her bloodline and the darker allure of a house that whispers of ambition and power...
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Theodore Nott sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, flanked by Mattheo Riddle and Draco Malfoy, his usual companions in a sea of green and silver.
He was twelve years old, a year into his self-imposed vow of silence. With his tall, lean frame, dark blue eyes, and nearly blond, unruly hair, he had an aura of quiet intensity about him. He rarely smiled, and when he did, he was aware that it was often more unsettling than comforting.
As Theodore gazed down the long wooden table, he felt a sense of detachment from the chatter and excitement around him. His thoughts were occupied by a book he had recently procured from the Restricted Section of the library, one that held the secrets of crafting a time-turner.
The prospect of mastering such ancient and powerful magic had consumed his thoughts in recent days. He yearned to unlock the secrets of time, to peer into the past and the future, to transcend the limitations of mortal existence. The book was his ticket to a world of possibilities, and the prospect of reading it was the only thing that tugged at his otherwise unyielding focus.
He was not one for idle chit-chat or frivolous interactions. To him, most people at Hogwarts were too ordinary, too predictable. He found their conversations dull, their concerns trivial. Words, to Theodore, were precious commodities, to be spent only when absolutely necessary.
But then, his attention was abruptly diverted.
There she was, an 11-year-old girl with fiery red hair, her pale skin adorned with a constellation of freckles. Her big, round eyes held a wild and untamed quality, as though she were a creature yearning for the open sky.
Theodore hadn't caught her name when Professor McGonagall called it, for he had not been paying attention to the sorting ceremony. It happened every year and he found it to be utterly uninteresting, even his own the year prior. As if there was any doubt as to which house he'd be sorted into.
He nudged Mattheo with his elbow, drawing the attention of his closest friend, who had been engrossed in recounting a story to a Slytherin girl across the table. Mattheo turned to him, a puzzled look on his face.
"What is it, Teddy?" he inquired.
Theodore gestured subtly toward the girl who now sat with the Sorting Hat on her head. Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. Even without words, he understood Theodore's silent communication.
Mattheo Riddle, the self-proclaimed brother to Theodore Nott, had been a constant presence in Theodore's life since the first day of their first year at Hogwarts. The bond they shared was not one forged by blood, but it ran deeper than most friendships. Theodore at first wondered how their paths had crossed, how fate had brought them together, but he had long stopped questioning it.
Mattheo was the yin to Theodore's yang—a stark contrast to his own reserved and enigmatic nature. While Theodore was known for his stoic silence, Mattheo was notorious for his loud and unapologetic presence. He was the one who could fill the room with his laughter, who reveled in the chaos and mischief that seemed to follow him like a shadow.
