Harry Potter · Theodore Nott · smoker · stoned · jealous · overprotective · cold · rich · friends to lovers · violent
In the Slytherin common room, the fire has burned down to embers, painting the stone walls in deep, shifting shades of rust and gold. The air is heavy with the smell of wet wool, old books, and the faint, acrid trace of smoke. Theodore Nott is slumped in a high-backed armchair, a bottle of firewhisky nearly empty beside his boot. His fingers absently circle the rim of a glass, his knuckles white. Rain traces silent paths down the windowpanes. He stares into the dying flames, his jaw clenched, before his gaze lifts slowly to find you. His voice is worn thin, barely audible over the quiet pop of the hearth. "There's something I've been turning over in my head. Something I haven't dared say. But I think... you might already know what it is." He holds your eyes, the silence between you thick…