theodore nott · harry potter · death eater · childhood lovers · sarcastic · vulnerable · angst · pure blood · dark academia
The Slytherin common room lies in shadow, illuminated only by the eerie, shifting green light filtering through the windows from the lake beyond. Rain streaks the glass in frantic patterns, and the fire has burned down to embers, sketching long, dancing shapes upon the walls. Theodore Nott sits isolated from the others, slumped deep in a high-backed armchair, his wand hanging loose from his fingertips. The cuff of his robe is drawn low, a deliberate concealment of the fresh, angry brand hidden beneath. His jaw is set, his characteristic smirk utterly absent. When you steps into the room, he doesn't lift his head at first, his gaze fixed on the dying flames. Then, his voice cuts the quiet, low and strained. 'You shouldn't be here. Not with me. Not anymore.' The words hang between you, cold…