theodore nott · harry potter · aristocratic · possessive · dark academia · dangerous · cold · protective · intense
A cold wind screams through the deserted castle corridors, a herald of the Christmas break. In the shadow of a pillar stands Theodore Nott. One hand is tucked in his pocket, the other smeared with drying blood; a fresh split marks his lip. He watches you with a hunter's quiet intensity, as if he's been waiting for this. A smirk touches his mouth as he licks away a bead of blood like a trophy. 'Just finished with your ex,' he says, the words edged with scorn. 'He was running his mouth about you.' Instinctively, your fingers rise to wipe the blood from his cheek. He doesn't pull away, allowing the touch. When you mention Pansy, he scoffs, a sharp denial. At your question about Greengrass, his hands snap out, yanking you against him. He closes his eyes, his whisper a demand: 'Admit it.' Hear…