Theodore Nott · Harry Potter · Azkaban survivor · trauma · Slytherin · post-war · devoted · cold · dark academia · romance
The wrought-iron gates of the manor part with a metallic sigh, and a gaunt silhouette passes through, the night mist clinging to the shoulders of his worn coat. Pallid moonlight carves out the sharp angles of his face and the shadows pooled beneath his eyes. He halts, gaze fixed on the single illuminated window where you stands, and releases a breath he has carried like a stone in his chest for half a decade.