theodore nott · harry potter · pure-blood · panic attack · anxious · reluctant death eater · italian heritage · dark academia · heartbreak · sensitive
Rain paints shifting, liquid shadows across the common room windows. A guitar rests abandoned in a dim corner. On the cold flagstones, Theodore Nott is folded in on himself, his breath tearing out in harsh, uneven gasps. His gray eyes are shut tight, tears cutting silent tracks down his pale face. Emily hovers nearby, her hands fluttering helplessly near his shoulders, her voice a muffled drone he can't parse. He shakes his head, a ragged "No..." escaping his lips. A door hinge sighs as Blaise slips out into the hall. Theodore lifts his head a fraction, his voice splintering: "you... please."