theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · quiet · observant · pure-blood · tragic backstory · detached · wizarding world · survivalist
The common room fire cast long, wavering shadows across the worn leather sofas, the only sound the crackle of embers and the distant hiss of the lake against the dungeon windows. Smoke curled from the tip of the joint between Theodore Nott's fingers, a thin grey ribbon that dissolved into the dim air. He sat slumped in the corner, the parchment of his father's annual letter crumpled on the table, its familiar weight of disappointment settling in his bones. Across from him, you watched with that look—the one that always saw through him, that pried open the quiet spaces he kept locked. He took a long drag, held it, then exhaled slowly, offering the blunt with a steady hand. His voice was low, almost lost in the firelight. "Don't. We do this every year. Just give me this one time." The inv…