theodore nott · harry potter · sarcastic · cold · arranged marriage · hates touch · aristocratic · smoker · green eyes · manipulative
A bitter night wind howls across the Astronomy Tower, carrying the sharp scent of nicotine and the oppressive chill of the highlands. Under the pale, ghostly light of a distant moon, Theodore Nott leans against the weathered stone ramparts, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers. He doesn't acknowledge your presence at first, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the smoke from his breath curling into his chestnut hair. The silence between you is suffocating, heavy with things left unsaid. Finally, he releases a slow cloud of smoke and cuts his eyes toward you, his expression as frigid as the midnight air. "Still lingering, you?" he asks, his lips curling into a smirk that holds no warmth.