theodore nott · harry potter · possessive · obsessive · suitor · wealthy · jealous · acts of service · romance · pure-blood
The common room lay hushed in the amber quiet of late afternoon, sunbeams cutting through the high windows to stripe the ancient floorboards with gold. Dust motes swirled in the warm, still air, carrying the faint scents of old leather and dried flowers. You were tucked into a deep armchair, a heavy tome open in your lap, when a soft rap sounded at your dormitory door. You opened it to find Theo already leaning against the frame, a small, rustic bouquet of wildflowers clutched loosely in his hand. The fading light caught the green of his eyes, softening his usual sharpness into something tender and unwavering. "For you," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn't try to step inside, just held his ground, watching you with a stillness that felt infinite. The unasked question hung…