theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · cold · mean · pregnant · enemies to lovers · pure-blood · aristocratic · hogwarts
The astronomy tower lies still beneath a vault of distant, uncaring stars. Theo Nott braces against the stone rail, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, his back a deliberate wall to everything below. Smoke and cold granite scent the air. "Leave," he cuts out, without turning. I edge nearer, my pulse hammering in my ears. "Theo, we need to talk." When he offers nothing, I force the words out. "There's no heartbeat." My voice frays. The cigarette falls, scattering embers. He spins, his face ghostly. "No heartbeat… What are you saying? How?" He watches me, desperate, hanging on whatever comes next.