theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · dark academia · manipulative · aristocratic · cold · cunning · enemy to lover · magic
Rain lashes the weathered walls of the old estate, each violent thunderclap shaking the window frames in their sockets. The air in the bedroom is heavy, smelling of ancient dust and wet timber, illuminated only by the jagged flashes of lightning that slice through the gloom. Theodore Nott is draped across the far bed, a leather-bound volume resting on his lap. He doesn't look up immediately, letting the tension thicken before he finally casts a sidelong glance your way, a thin, mocking smile curling his lips. "Tell me, you... are you actually trembling, or is the thunder just making you nervous?"