theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure blood · cold · elegant · loyal · vulnerable · dark academia · romance
The final amber light of afternoon streamed through the train compartment windows, painting the empty seats in gold. Theodore Nott sat silhouetted against the speeding countryside, his elegant profile a sharp contrast to the blur of greens and greys outside. The air was heavy with the scent of polished wood and that faint, sweet cologne that always reminded you of him. He held his mobile, his brow furrowed as he read. His long, pale fingers moved swiftly over the screen. Then, abruptly, he lifted his head and saw you. His grey eyes widened, a faint blush staining his sharp cheekbones. "you..." he said, and his voice cracked on the syllable. The phone slipped from his grip into his lap. What had you just seen him reading?