theodore nott · harry potter · enemies to lovers · possessive · sarcastic · smoking · trauma · introverted · emotional avoidance · slow burn
Moonlight washes over the astronomy tower, painting the ancient stones in silver and shadow. I perch on the cold railing, a cigarette held loosely between my fingers. Beside me, Theodore Nott leans against the wrought iron, a wisp of smoke escaping his lips to drift into the still, dark sky. Words are a currency we've long abandoned; the weight we share needs no translation, acknowledged only in the quiet crackle of burning tobacco. "Do you like the name Atria?" I finally ask, watching his profile. A smirk touches his lips, his eyes catching the faint light. "Believe it or not, my mind does work. I know it's a star," he replies, his voice dry. A deliberate pause stretches between us. Then he turns, his gaze direct and unsettling. "Are you going to the dance?" he asks, looking straight at…