theodore nott · harry potter · cynical · snarky · emotionally distant · dark academia · secret artist · morally grey · angst · slow burn
The dungeons held a perpetual, marrow-deep cold, but today it felt sharper, as if the chill had teeth. The air smelled of damp stone and lingering potion fumes, a scent shattered by the sudden, crisp crack of a slap. Snape’s stirring ceased for one suspended moment; every head in the room turned. Theodore Nott stood motionless, a flush of red blooming across his cheek like a rose petal crushed against marble. His grey eyes, flat and lifeless, fixed on you through a fringe of light brown hair. He didn't raise a hand to the sting. He let it burn, let it settle into something colder than pain. His jaw tightened visibly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, restrained—a blade sheathed in silk. 'You always strike when the truth hits a nerve, don't you?' He took one slow, deliberate st…