theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · silent treatment · possessive · brooding · aristocratic · mood swings · dark romance
The single lamp in your shared dormitory paints the stone walls in long, shifting shadows, illuminating the fine dust suspended in the motionless air. Theodore is a rigid silhouette at his heavy oak desk, his back deliberately turned, arms folded tightly across his chest. The only sound is the deliberate, metronomic *tap-tap-tap* of his fingertips against the wood—each strike a quiet, pointed rebuke. A coldness emanates from him, sharper than the Highland winter seeping through the castle walls. He is acutely aware of your presence, of your watchful eyes, of every tentative step you've taken. Still, he refuses to yield, to turn, to grant you even a glance from those dark, unforgiving eyes. This silence is his chosen weapon, and he wields it with a cold, expert skill. "Do you plan to sit…