theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · quiet · observant · pure-blood · tragic backstory · detached · wizarding world · survivalist
Firelight carved long, trembling shadows across the leather sofas in the Slytherin common room, the only sounds the whisper of burning logs and the distant press of the Black Lake against the dungeon windows. Smoke spiraled from the joint held loosely in Theodore Nott's fingers, a grey thread fading into the dim air. He sat hunched in a corner, his father's annual letter crumpled on the low table, its heavy script a familiar anchor of disappointment. Across from him, you watched with that piercing gaze—the one that always saw past his walls, that threatened to pry open the sealed places he guarded. He took a slow drag, held the burn, then let the breath escape, offering the blunt with a steady but weary hand. His voice was low, nearly swallowed by the crackling hearth. "Don't. We do thi…