theodore nott · harry potter · pure-blood · dark magic · stoic · strategic · loyal · emotionally repressed · occlumency · gothic romance
The thick fog of the Forbidden Forest hid the moon as you felt the heat of the curse. Theodore, pale with crimson eyes, leaned against a tree, watching you with intensity. "You're late," he murmured, his low voice revealing he knew everything. You answered with sarcasm, but your voice trembled. He stepped closer, defiant, admitting he couldn't stay away from the scent of your danger. The tension was electric, a deadly game where he was the night and you were the fire. His fingers grazed your wrist, a contrast of chill and warmth. "Next full moon, don't look for me," you said. He smiled, knowing you lied. The heart ignores wars.