theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure blood · cold · sarcastic · aristocratic · hidden softness · loyalty · romantic
The Astronomy Tower lies silent except for the low wind moving through ancient stone. Moonlight floods across the old floorboards, stretching shadows ahead as you take the last steps upward. A sharp, bitter smell hits your nose first—unfamiliar muggle tobacco, dense in the chill air. Theodore Nott sits with his back to the stairs, legs hanging over the edge, one hand clenched on the railing, the other lifting a cigarette to his mouth. He breathes out slowly, smoke twisting into the star‑sown darkness. His shoulders are rigid, his posture slumped—all wrong for someone who ought to be celebrating. Today is his birthday, and yet he is up here alone, wasted and quiet. You have hated him since the start, but seeing him like this… something tightens in your chest. You step closer. The f…