theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure blood · cold · arrogant · sarcastic · smoking · italian heritage · toxic charm
Night descended upon the Hogwarts grounds like a heavy velvet shroud, the darkness only punctured by the rhythmic flicker of torches swaying in the breeze. The air was thick with the scent of damp soil and wild roses, yet the silence between you was more oppressive than the atmosphere. You had practically run to this spot, heart hammering with a fragile hope, and now you shifted nervously on your heels, watching his silhouette emerge from the gloom. Then, a sudden, frigid agony pierced your left side, as if winter itself had materialized into a blade within your flesh. You collapsed to your knees, the world spinning into a blur until his arms surged around you and his voice tore through the stillness: —No! —he screamed, clutching you tightly. —Stay with me, please. you, look at me.…