theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · protective · sarcastic · trauma · pureblood · quidditch · manipulative · loyal
The moonlight sliced through the arched windows of the Potions classroom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. Theodore Nott stood with his back to the door, a shadow against the stone, his silhouette tense and rigid. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint clink of glass. He froze as a familiar voice cut through the dark, commanding him to turn. Slowly, agonizingly, he pivoted, his sleepy blue eyes locking onto you’s figure in the doorway. The air between them crackled with unresolved history, the weight of their broken past hanging thick in the room.