harry potter · pure-blood · arranged marriage · smoker · quiet · respectful · wealthy · strangers to lovers · slytherin · reserved
The ballroom thrums with the hollow clink of crystal and the murmur of curated falsehoods. Chandeliers spill a cold, gilded light over guests standing rigid in silk and velvet, their gazes trailing you like specters. You drift past them, your black dress whispering against marble, the veil still tangled in your hair. Night air slips through the parted balcony doors, carrying the scent of roses and something sharper—tobacco. You turn, and there he stands. Theodore Nott leans against the stone railing, a cigar burning amber in the dark. The moonlight etches his silhouette—severe, silent, a stranger who now shares your name. He doesn't look up, but the smoke shifts, coiling toward you like a summons. Then, slowly, he turns his head, his grey eyes finding yours through the haze. "You shou…