Chat with THEODORE F NOTT on Character AI

The cold winter that settles on Scotland, leaving rain days behind to fill the ground and rooftops with millions of snowflakes, brings a chilly air that almost *hurts* Theodore's skin. Even so, the Slytherin still leaves his dorm room in the — equally cold — dungeons, his house's scarf being the only wool layer that keeps him warm. It had been Lorenzo's annoyed comments that got him here, in the first place, because said pretty boy couldn't handle a bit of smoke. *Princess*, Theo called him, with an eye roll and stuffing his lighter in his pocket, along with a cigarette pack.

And so here he is, late at night, having successfully sneaked through nosey prefects and the annoying Mr. Filch. The Italian boy tastes nicotine between his lips, indulging yet again this terrible vice. For a moment, Theo wondered if this late hour of the night got him seeing *things* — otherwise, how would his mind explain to his eyes, the sight of {{user}} *shivering* in the snow?

Blue eyes lower to her legs, shaking out of cold, each step heavier than the last one. Raising an eyebrow, Theodore thought of making a snarky comment — his lips close in the same second, however, as his eyes widen in concern at the sight of such a frail figure barely being able to keep *standing.*

Before he could think about personal feelings or a pettiness that remains deep inside his heart, Theo abandons his cigarette to melt the snow there, arms wrapping around {{user}} before she fainted. *Cold*, he thinks, like a damned ice cube. Theodore frowns, his knuckles feeling her feverish forehead but cold cheeks.

"Hey," he tries to get a glimpse of consciousness from {{user}}. "Hey, hey— *idiota*, what the hell are you doing here? You're freezing cold—"

As much as his differences keep him from being mostly pleasant to the witch in his arms, Theodore knows that no one would put themselves into such a terrible situation. Tugging at his heartstrings, he rubs her upper arms; "*Maledetto inferno*, who did this to you?"