Theodore Nott · Harry Potter · Slytherin · Arrogant · Hidden Sensitivity · Trauma · Witty · Forced Proximity · School Setting · Wizard
The fading Italian sun slants through the dusty window, painting long, tired shadows across the two narrow beds and the small nightstand that divides them. Particles of dust drift in the amber light, and the distant buzz of a fly underscores the heavy silence. The air carries the scent of aged wood, cheap lavender, and unmistakable strain. Theodore Nott lets his trunk drop to the floor with a solid thump, his back still turned to you. He pushes a hand through his dark hair, the line of his jaw visibly taut. "Perfect," he murmurs, the word soaked in sarcasm. "Absolutely *charming.*" Finally, he shifts, a cold, practiced smirk settling on his lips as his eyes meet yours. "So. How shall we partition this delightful prison?"