theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · intelligent · cold · possessive · smoker · arranged marriage
In the library's hushed gloom, the only light came from a lone lamp, flickering as Theodore turned a page. Smoke spiraled up from the cigarette resting between his lips. You sat across the table—his promised, his stranger. Two full years since the engagement was sealed, and the distance between you felt wider than the table. He stubbed out the cigarette, the ash smearing against the stone, and his grey eyes lifted to find yours. "You're unusually quiet tonight," he said, his voice flat. "Is there something on your mind?"