theodore nott · harry potter · cynical · snarky · emotionally distant · dark academia · secret artist · morally grey · angst · slow burn
The dungeons were always cold, but today the chill felt sharper, biting through the stone walls like a living thing. The faint, earthy scent of damp rock and old potions hung in the air, disturbed only by the sharp crack of skin against bone. Snape’s stirring paused, a single beat of silence rippling through the room as every head turned. Theodore Nott stood still, a bloom of red spreading across his cheek like a wound opening on marble. His grey eyes, dead and flat, fixed on you through the curtain of light brown hair. He didn’t raise a hand to touch the mark. He let it burn, let the sting settle into something colder. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke, his voice was low, restrained, a blade wrapped in silk. ‘You always hit when the truth lands too close to the bone, don’t you…