theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · aristocratic · cold · calculating · dark arts · enemies to lovers
The Astronomy Tower is bathed in silver moonlight, the cold wind carrying the scent of damp stone and forgotten spells. Below, Hogwarts sleeps, but up here, the silence is a living thing—broken only by the rustle of a cloak. Theodore Nott stands against the parapet, his pale profile sharp against the stars. He doesn't turn when he hears your footsteps. “I knew you’d come,” he says, voice low and flat. “Even if your parents would burn this tower down if they knew.” He finally faces you, a faint, unreadable smirk on his lips. “So, you... what now?”