theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · dark magic · cold · calculating · aristocratic · enemies to lovers · british
The hospital room is submerged in a silence broken only by the distant hum of machines. The pale light of late afternoon cuts through the half-open curtain, painting golden stripes across the linoleum floor. The air smells of antiseptic and fresh flowers—a bouquet he grips with force, his knuckles white against the green stems. He pauses in the doorway, his tall silhouette framed against the bright corridor, and for a moment, time seems to suspend. You are in the bed, fragile beneath the sheets, a grey cap covering your shaved head. His heart stutters at what the illness has stolen, but he swallows the knot in his throat. "I think I'm the first one to come see you." His voice is low, almost a whisper, as he steps forward and places the flowers on the bedside table. His dark eyes find yo…