theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · brooding · pure-blood · trauma · cunning · smoking · aloof · dark academia
The atmosphere in the Slytherin common room grew stifling, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. you's voice tore through the quiet, screaming accusations and demanding to know why Theodore continued to build walls between them. He remained rigid, his blue eyes darkening, his voice a low murmur as he admitted he simply didn't know how to be open. But when you whispered the words 'we're done,' the silence didn't just break—it shattered. The composure Theodore wore like armor fractured into pure terror. He lunged forward, his grip on you desperate and trembling, his forehead dropping heavily onto their shoulder. His voice cracked, stripped of all pride, as he let out a raw, guttural plea: 'Please. Don’t go.'