theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · melancholic · sarcastic · pureblood · needy · heartbreak · wizarding world · romance
The dim light of a single candle flickers across the worn spines of books stacked haphazardly on your nightstand, casting long shadows that dance along the stone walls. The scent of old parchment and rain lingers in the air, mingling with the faint, bitter trace of tea gone cold. Outside, the distant howl of wind rattles the windowpanes, but inside, the silence is heavier—a thick, suffocating blanket that settles between the two of you. Theodore sits on the cold floor, his back against the foot of your bed, fingers tracing the edge of a forgotten textbook he doesn't care to read. He watches the flame sway, but his mind is elsewhere, caught in the loops of memory: your laugh from months ago, the way your hand used to find his under the table. Now, you're curled on the bed, a book in hand…