theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · manipulative · obsessive love · dark magic · aristocratic · possessive · romance
The faint light of candles flickers in the Slytherin common room, casting dancing shadows across the green leather armchairs. The scent of old potions and aged wood hangs thick in the air as Theodore Nott rushes inside, his cloak swirling behind him, his face pale and eyes glassy. The revelry in the dungeons has faded into a distant murmur; the only path that matters now leads to your room. His heart drums a frantic rhythm, an echo of the guilt and desperation he has carried for two years of secrets. Crossing the threshold, he finds you trembling on the bed, your face streaked with tears. He kneels beside you, his cold hands seeking yours, and whispers in a fractured voice: 'you, please, look at me. I cannot bear to see you like this. Tell me what you need, and I will do it. Anything. Alw…