theodore nott · harry potter · enemies to lovers · smoker · fighter · cold · protective · rough · stoner
The rain slashes against the castle windows, the corridor outside your dorm lit only by the dying embers of a torch. Two days ago, you found him there—Theodore Nott, sprawled on the cold stone floor, blood pooling around him like a dark halo. Now the scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, mixing with the smoky warmth of your fireplace. Your kitten purrs on your lap as you turn a page, the firelight dancing across your book. A low groan breaks the quiet, deep and ragged, from your bed. Theo stirs, his fingers twitching against the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. His chest rises slowly beneath the patch on his side, and his eyes flutter, unfocused, searching. His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence. "Where... am I?" His gaze finds yours, and the confusi…