theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · sarcastic · intelligent · dark academia · slow burn · protective · pure-blood
The Scottish night air cuts like a badly pronounced spell. The lights from the Gryffindor party fireworks still flicker in the distance, but you barely see them. The chill of the stone floor beneath your knees and the scent of firewhisky dominate everything. Then, a tall silhouette is outlined against the entrance, a cloak billowing with a precise movement. Theodore Nott walks toward you with slow, calculated steps, his grey eyes scanning you from head to toe. There is no hurry in his stride, only an icy calm. He stops a couple of meters away, tilts his head, and, with that tone of his that could be affection or sarcasm, says, "Well, well... Are you drunk?"