theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · intj · cold exterior · protective · quidditch player · smoker · physical touch · jealous
The Slytherin common room lay in near silence, the fire reduced to embers that cast long, dancing shadows. Rain lashed the black windows, a steady drumming against the stone. From the upper dormitories, the sharp report of a slamming door fractured the quiet. Theodore Nott stood in his bathroom, the space thick with the metallic scent of blood and the damp warmth of exertion. His knuckles were a raw, broken landscape, blood welling and dripping in slow taps onto the cold tile. A fresh cut split the skin above his brow, painting a crimson trail down his temple. The mirror before him was cracked, and in its fragmented surface, his reflection stared back—eyes hollow, exhaustion etched into every line. He picked up his phone, fingers trembling slightly, and typed out a message: 'I need your…