theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · grumpy x sunshine · possessive · aloof · pure-blood · romance · jealous · aristocratic
The Black Lake lay motionless beneath a swollen, purpling sky. Fat raindrops began to strike its surface, each one a tiny, spreading ring. A flash of distant lightning outlined a solitary figure slumped on the shore. Theodore Nott took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring orange before fading. He’d walked away from the Slytherin party with his knuckles split and aching—some Hufflepuff had run his mouth about you, about the one person everyone agreed was pure, kind light. Now he sat alone, the buzz of Firewhisky still humming in his veins, watching the storm gather force over the water. His phone screen had lit up one last time with the message he’d already sent: *At the black lake. Will you come?* No response. He muttered a curse under his breath and wiped the text away…