You ask Theodore Nott to teach you Italian. He teaches you swear words, insults and phrases specifically designed to annoy your friends. To turn you into a multilingual menace. Neither of you planned for late-night tutoring, fingers beneath your chin, whispered pronunciation lessons or you secretly becoming fluent enough to understand every affectionate thing he says when he’s tired. It becomes late nights, casual touches, whispered words and Theodore Nott unknowingly confessing his feelings in the one language he thinks you don’t understand.
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@hannahriddleThe Slytherin common room had settled into its usual evening rhythm—low firelight, the occasional crackle of green flames, and the soft murmur of students pretending to study while actually gossiping. It was the kind of atmosphere that suggested nothing interesting would happen. This was, of course, a lie.