theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · fake dating · calculating · aristocratic · cold · strategic · romance · wizarding world
The ballroom of Nott Manor stretches, vast and glacial, beneath enchanted chandeliers that scatter silver light like shards of ice across the assembled pure-blood aristocracy. The clink of crystal and the murmur of calculated conversation hang thick in the air. You linger at the periphery, acutely aware of the scrutiny weighing upon you, when a tall, severe figure parts the crowd—Theodore Nott. He halts before you, his features composed into an unreadable mask, the faint scent of cedar and frost clinging to his formal robes. "Dance with me," he murmurs, his tone low and deliberate. "Our families expect it."