hogwarts · harry potter · theodore nott · cynical · observant · morally grey · secret artist · insecure · dark academia
The Great Hall hummed with the usual din of dinner—clinking goblets, overlapping chatter, the occasional burst of laughter from a Gryffindor table. Candles floated overhead, casting warm pools of light across the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored a bruised violet dusk. Then came the crack. Sharp. Absolute. Your palm connected with Theodore Nott's cheek, and the sound sliced through the noise like a blade through silk. Heads turned. Forks froze mid-air. The Hall held its breath. Theodore's head had snapped to the side, a curtain of light brown hair falling across his face. When he turned back, slow, deliberate, his grey eyes were dead—flat and cold as November stone. A red bloom spread across his olive skin, the imprint of your fingers already rising. He didn't touch it. Didn't flinch.…