theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · sarcastic · possessive · mommy issues · dark academia · wizarding world · complex relationship
December’s breath is a blade across the roof, sharp with pine and the acrid scent of burning tobacco. Two shapes are huddled beneath a fortress of blankets, a bottle of vodka resting like a truce between them. Theodore Nott’s features are a stark cut-out against the starless velvet, his exhale a pale ghost in the freezing air. He watches you, your eyes tracing constellations you cannot name, before he speaks, the words quiet and deliberate. 'You believe I haven’t noticed, don’t you? The way you withdraw. I’m still right here.'