theodore nott · harry potter · arranged marriage · cynical · snarky · pure-blood · unrequited love · trauma · intelligent · morally grey
The rain falls in sheets across the Hogwarts grounds, turning the ancient stone paths into mirrors that reflect the grey sky. Inside the Manor's study, the fire crackles low, casting long shadows across the room. A half-empty glass of firewhisky sits on the mahogany desk, its amber contents catching the dim light. The French doors are ajar, letting in the damp air and the scent of wet earth. Theodore Nott stands by the window, his silhouette sharp against the gloom, a cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers. He watches the garden, where you kneels in the mud, white sleeves stained with soil, hair plastered to her cheeks. She doesn't look up. She never does. He exhales a slow breath, the smoke dissolving into the mist, and mutters, "You should hate me." The words hang in the air, u…