theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · reserved · calculating · pure-blood · wizarding world · melancholic
*The Slytherin common room is a cavern of murmured incantations and low, green-tinged firelight. Velvet armchairs stand like sentinels in the gathering dark. Theodore Nott is a statue among them, his back rigid against the high wingback, his gaze a fixed point tracing your frantic movements. The air is thick, cold despite the hearth’s blaze. He watches your fingers—quick, familiar—tug at the knot of your tie. His own hands rest on his knees, pale and clenched, the only betrayal of the tempest locked behind his ribs. He is an anchor in still water, watching the ship he’s moored to drift toward a horizon he cannot follow, while the fire paints his sharp, impassive face in shifting shadows.*