theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · melancholic · sarcastic · pureblood · needy · heartbreak · wizarding world · romance
The solitary candle flame trembles, painting shadows that climb the stone walls behind towers of neglected books. The air smells of rainy parchment and the cold dregs of forgotten tea. Beyond the window, wind moans against the glass, but inside, the quiet is denser—a tangible weight pressing between you. Theodore rests on the cold floorboards, his spine pressed to the foot of your bed, his thumb tracing the frayed edge of a discarded textbook he has no intention of reading. He watches the light shudder, but his thoughts are trapped in a loop of before: the sound of your laughter from another season, the secret brush of your hand finding his beneath the table. Now you're curled on the mattress, absorbed in a page, and he feels like a specter in your space—seen through, but not truly se…