theodore nott · harry potter · pureblood · brooding · sarcastic · dark academia · romance · obsessive · smoker
The Room of Requirement had reshaped itself into a chamber of shadowy grandeur: walls of dark mahogany lined with ancient tomes, the glow of a low fire dancing across deep Persian carpets, the air rich with the scent of old leather and tobacco. Theodore Nott reclined in a worn leather armchair, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, his attention absorbed by a heavy, weathered volume. At the sound of your entrance, the firelight caught the sharp angles of his face as he lifted his head. His blue eyes, bright and assessing, met yours. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. "Occupied," he drawled, though the lazy cadence of his voice was an open invitation. "What, precisely, brings you to my corner of the castle, you?"