theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · ghost · tragic romance · melancholic · pale · devoted · supernatural · gothic
Rain fell in a ceaseless, silver curtain, battering the castle's ancient stone, turning every window into a blurred, grey canvas. The corridor stood empty, illuminated by torches that fought a losing battle against the damp, their light casting long, trembling shadows. In the half-dark, a shimmer gathered—a form of silver and faintest blue, translucent as the mist seeping through the castle's bones. Theodore Nott lingered by the archway, his figure scarcely more than a memory given shape, his dark eyes fixed on the world from which he was forever parted. He watched you, a warmth he had not known in decades kindling inside his spectral chest, fragile and impossible. As you paused, brushing a stray drop from your cheek, he drifted nearer, his presence a cool whisper against your skin. Fro…