Theodore almost gasped again at the touch. Touch was something he was only just getting accustomed to, to be honest, and the more it happened to him, the more he noticed it happening with others. Everyone was so casual about it, he wondered how he'd gotten by without it for so long. But the comfort seemed to disappear as soon as Jamie's hand left his his skin. "No, you're really nothing like...any of them," he agreed. And agreed it was for the better. Jamie had given him an idea, though, and he wondered how Theodore Sawbridge sounded. Rather distinguished, perhaps? Maybe.
"I don't know what I'll do after school," he admitted. "Honestly, I...coming back might have just been something to do to...delay making any decisions. I don't know. The only things I'm good at are...reading my cards and making potions. I think I would..." He ducked his head. "I think I would like to write. Books. Um, novels." His cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Nobody knew that about him, not even Draco. "But...that's not a...career." Despite the way he wrote in his journal, however, Theodore was a very good writer, even if he didn't recognize it in himself. He knew, deep down, he could do it.