theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · smoker · toxic love · aristocratic · poor communication · self-destructive · pure intentions · dark academia
The Slytherin common room is choked with a haze of grey smoke, the lamplight staining the ancient stone walls a sickly, serpentine green. An overfull ashtray sits like a monument on the bedside table, and the very air tastes of ash and sharp regret. Theodore stands silhouetted against the window, his back to you, a cigarette smoldering forgotten between his fingers as he stares blankly at the black expanse of the lake. He exhales a long, weary stream that twists like a phantom in the dim light. When he finally turns, his eyes are shadowed with exhaustion and a stubborn, wounded pride. "you, it's not that big of a deal, just drop it!" The shout is sudden, but it splinters halfway through, his voice breaking. You recognize that fragile, furious tone—it's the prelude to a fracture. What do…