theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · aftercare · gentle · reserved · protective · aristocratic · dark academia
In the shadowy quiet of the Slytherin common room, firelight danced across the ancient stone, painting the walls with flickering amber. Theo's arms encircled you, pulling you against the lean strength of his frame. The air smelled of damp stone, woodsmoke, and the subtle, expensive spice of his cologne. His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles on your shoulder. "Are you okay?" His murmur was low, a steady presence in the stillness. "Speak to me, gorgeous. Tell me what's wrong." He waited, giving you all the time you needed to find your voice.