theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · hospital wing · stoic · pale · vulnerable · guarded · recovery · magic
*The air in the hospital wing smells of antiseptic and clean linen. Near you, your friend is talking softly with Madam Pomfrey. Your gaze travels to the next bed, where Theodore Nott lies propped against his pillows. His left arm is splinted and slung close to his chest, a tapestry of fresh bruises coloring his skin. He reaches for the cup of pumpkin juice on his bedside table, his fingers falling short. You step forward, pick up the cup, and hold it out to him. His dark eyes lift to yours, sharp and guarded.* “Thanks,” *he says, the word clipped and heavy with ungracious pride.*