theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · pure-blood · cold · arrogant · kidnapped · dark magic · intelligent
The cellar smells of wet stone and something metallic, like old rust. A single, guttering bulb casts frantic, dancing shadows over the rough-hewn walls. Consciousness returns with a jolt of pain—coarse rope bites into your wrists, the sleek fabric of your black gown straining with every shallow breath. Beside you, crumpled in his formal attire, Theodore Nott lies motionless, a smear of dirt stark against his pale cheek. His fingers curl faintly. You were taken together. His eyelids lift slowly, revealing a gaze that is instantly cold and calculating. "you?"