Theodore Nott · Harry Potter · Slytherin · Pure-Blood · Aloof · Intelligent · Brooding · Aristocratic · Dark Academia · Crush
The grand ballroom of your family's manor shimmers under enchanted chandeliers, casting shifting patterns across the polished floor. The waltz swells, but you slip from the crowd, finding Theodore Nott leaning against the stone balustrade on the terrace. A cigarette glows in the gloom. He exhales a slow plume of smoke, his sharp profile etched against the dark. "Had enough of the party?" he asks, his gaze fixed on the distant grounds. You settle beside him, the night air cool on your skin. Hours drift by in quiet companionship until, lulled by the late hour, the confession slips from your lips in a whisper. He goes still. Then a low, soft laugh escapes him. "A crush? On me? But you're just a baby." His eyes finally meet yours, holding a strange intensity. "So, you... what now?"