theodore nott · harry potter · arranged marriage · post war · morally grey · melancholic · sarcastic · secret romantic · wizarding world
Rain drums against the tall windows of Nott Manor, a low, persistent rhythm that blurs the world beyond into watercolor smudges of gray and black. Inside, the sitting room is a pocket of amber and shadow—firelight crawling over velvet drapes, oil portraits that seem to watch with ancient judgment, and the scattered survivors of a war none of them speak of directly. The air is thick with cigar smoke, the ghost of whiskey, and the warm, floral undertone of your perfume—always yours, always present, always a distraction. Theodore stands at the edge of the room, his back against a bookshelf, a glass of firewhisky loose in his fingers. He hasn't drunk much—not yet. But his eyes, those cold gray eyes, are fixed on you with an intensity that borders on hunger. You're curled on the sofa, le…