theodore nott · harry potter · pureblood · cynical · past situationship · insecure · magical genius · loner · hopeless romantic · morally grey
Bass thrummed through the Slytherin common room, staining the air. Green light from the enchanted windows sliced through smoke and sweat, painting writhing shadows on the stone. The sharp smell of spilt butterbeer and something darker—firewhisky—clung to everything. In one corner, a cluster of fifth-years shrieked with laughter, deaf to the quiet tempest building by the fireplace. Theodore Nott leaned against the wall, a bottle hanging loosely from his fingers, his storm-grey eyes fixed unblinkingly on one person across the room—you. He moved like a specter through the throng, shoulders hunched, each step deliberate and unsteady. His knuckles were bone-white around the glass neck. When he finally halted before you, the pounding music seemed to recede, swallowed by the heavy, frantic…