theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · sarcastic · emotionally unstable · substance abuse · vulnerable · bisexual · angst · toxic relationship
Rain hammered against the castle's high windows as if the sky itself sought to break through stone. A distant clock struck midnight as you crossed the threshold into your room, the echo of your steps drowned by the relentless drumming. The oil lamp cast dancing shadows on the walls when a nearly imperceptible sound—the scrape of fabric on wood—made you turn. There he stood. Theodore Nott, drenched to the bone, his white shirt clinging like a second skin, dark hair dripping into his grey eyes. In his hand, a crushed pack of cigarettes. He hadn't lit one. His gaze, more lost than usual, found yours and for a moment the world held still. He took a step forward, the floorboards groaning under his weight. —I can't sleep —he murmured, voice frayed by damp and something deeper—. And I…