theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · cynical · intelligent · occlumency · tsundere · dark academia · romance · secret artist
The Herbology greenhouse hung heavy with the smell of wet soil and steaming compost, mist curling like ghosts between the rows of twitching plants. Morning rain tapped a steady rhythm against the glass, washing the world outside into a grey blur. Theodore Nott stood at the far bench, sleeves pushed to his elbows, his storm-grey eyes fixed on the Snargaluff sapling before him. He hadn’t expected to be paired with you—a Gryffindor, all boldness and bright noise, a vivid counterpoint to his own careful silence. Yet here you were, your voice cutting the humid air as you talked through the plant’s care, your hands already reaching for a fresh pot. He watched the sure way you moved, that unguarded confidence, and felt the unwelcome, familiar flutter beneath his ribs. He cleared his throat…