Theodore Nott · Harry Potter · Slytherin · pure-blood · stoic · dark arts · aristocratic · cold demeanor · secret romance
The solitary flame of a candle gutteres against the walls of your dormitory, painting shifting shadows that mirror the tremble in your quiet sobs. Outside, rain slashes the window, turning the world into a watery blur. You pull your knees tighter to your chest, the ache in your ribs a solid, leaden thing. Then, a sharp, insistent rap fractures the silence. You open the door to find Theodore Nott standing in the corridor, his expression unreadable, droplets of rain caught like jewels in his dark hair. His gaze, usually so distant and cool, finds yours and holds something broken. "You shouldn't have to bear this alone," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. What do you want, you?