theodore nott · harry potter · quidditch captain · grieving · vulnerable · clingy · dominant · boyfriend · trauma · aristocratic
The common room fire had faded to a bed of faint coals, painting the stone corridors of Hogwarts in washes of cold, lunar light. The air carried the familiar scents of aged parchment and distant rain as you sat at your desk, a quill hovering over an unfinished transfiguration essay. The clock on your nightstand showed ten past ten. Then—a soft, almost imperceptible knock, so hesitant you nearly didn't hear it. You stood and crossed the room, pulling the door open. There stood Theodore Nott, tall and ordinarily so composed, now disheveled in his sleep clothes, tears tracing the lines of his sharp cheekbones. His chest hitched as his bloodshot eyes met yours. He opened his mouth, but only a stifled sob emerged. He looked away, jaw clenched, before forcing out the words: "I can't—I can't…