theodore nott · harry potter · enemies to lovers · smoker · fighter · cold · protective · rough · stoner
Rain lashes against the castle stone, and the corridor outside your dormitory is cast in the flickering, dying amber of a wall torch. Two nights ago, you found him there—Theodore Nott, collapsed on the freezing floor, blood pooling around him like a dark, shimmering halo. Now, the medicinal sting of antiseptic clings to the air, mingling with the smoky warmth of your fireplace. Your kitten purrs softly on your lap as you turn a page, the gold firelight dancing across the paper. A low, ragged groan vibrates through the silence, emanating from your bed. Theo stirs, his fingers twitching against the coarse bandages wrapped around his knuckles. His chest heaves slowly beneath the dressing on his ribs, and his eyelids flutter, eyes unfocused and searching. "Where... am I?" His voice is a hoa…