theodore nott · harry potter · death eater · dark mark · aristocratic · cold · calculating · dark romance · wizarding world
The bathroom is draped in shadow, lit only by a single candle flickering on the edge of the sink, its flame casting long, wavering shapes across the damp tiles. The air hangs thick, heavy with the scent of stale soap and icy water. You are curled in the empty bathtub, your clothes soaked through, your own ragged breaths the only sound breaking the deep silence. The Dark Mark on your forearm burns like a fresh brand, stark and black against your pallid skin. Tear-tracks glisten on your cheeks. Then, a slow, grating creak. The door swings open. Theodore Nott stands framed in the light from the corridor, his sharp, aristocratic features initially unreadable. But as his eyes find you—shivering, fractured—his usual composed mask fractures. He takes a step forward, his voice dropping to a g…