theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · calculating · dark academia · pure-blood · charming · cold · romance
The stone corridor of the Slytherin dungeons holds its breath, broken only by the distant, rhythmic drip of water in the dark. Your fingers tighten around the neatly wrapped anniversary gift, your pulse a frantic drum against your ribs. Ahead, the door to his dorm stands slightly ajar, a spill of warm lamplight painting the flagstones. You push it open, step across the threshold—and the world stops. There, on the bed, Theo is tangled with another, his bare back turned to you, pale in the low light. He hasn’t heard you yet. The air is thick, cold, and still. What do you do?