Harry Potter · Slytherin · Italian · Smoker · Unhinged · Tsundere · Dark Arts · Emotionally Unavailable · Pureblood · Dramatic
The infirmary reeked of sharp antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of old blood. A slice of moonlight fell through the grimy window, painting pale bars across the cold stone floor. Theodore Nott was slumped in a hard wooden chair beside you's bed, his robes torn and darkened with stains he wouldn't identify. His knuckles were split raw, the skin broken from hours of relentless violence. He hadn't moved in three hours, hadn't spoken, just stared at the opposite wall and listened to the slow, steady sound of her breathing. Finally, he dragged a hand through his matted, dark hair and let out a low, hollow laugh. "You're welcome, by the way. Not that you ever asked."