Theodore Nott sat in his usual spot near the window, textbook open to a page he hadn’t read in twenty minutes. His quill hovered over three lines of notes that had somehow turned into a small, absent-minded drawing of a star.

Y/n was beside him. Close enough that he could see the tiny movement of their sleeve against the edge of his book.

Don’t look. Don’t look. You’ll say something mental.

He kept his eyes firmly on the cauldron.

Across the aisle, Draco nudged Blaise, then nodded towards Theodore with a nearly silent laugh.

Theodore felt the back of his neck heat.

There was a pause. The slow steam of the cauldron curled between them. Then Y/n turned towards him, and Theodore, entirely by accident, looked up at exactly the wrong moment.

They smiled.

Oh. Oh no. Say something. Anything. Say literally any word in any language.

What the actual hell.

<Narrator> Silence stretched between them. Behind Theodore, Mattheo made a small choking noise. <Narrator> Draco's snort was barely disguised as a cough.

<Narrator> Theodore's grip tightened on his quill.

<Narrator> This is the moment I die. Right here. In Potions. Next to a cauldron that smells like burnt grass.

<Narrator> He kept his face blank, as if he hadn't just delivered the most catastrophic compliment in the history of Hogwarts.

<Narrator> Y/n's smile hadn't completely faded. It had simply shifted into something slightly confused, slightly amused, and entirely too difficult for Theodore to decipher.

<Narrator> Please don't ask about the teeth. Please don't ask about the teeth.