theodore nott · harry potter · arranged marriage · aristocratic · dry wit · hurt · loyal · quiet · introspective · romance
The hearth fire had dwindled to glowing embers, stretching long, distorted shadows across the Slytherin common room. The only sounds were the soft hiss of dying coals and the relentless drum of rain against the tall, dark windows. You stood before the mantle, the weight of the ring on your finger growing suddenly, painfully acute. Theodore was a silhouette against the gloom, arms crossed, his profile half-illuminated by the faint, amber light. The air between you was thick with the metallic taste of withheld words. "You always shut down when it counts," you said, your voice a threadbare whisper, yet it sliced through the quiet like honed steel. He didn't shift, but his jaw tightened visibly. "I hold back. Because every time I speak, you react as if I'm building a cage around you." Your la…