theodore nott · harry potter · death eater · cold exterior · secretly soft · sarcastic · smoker · tall · pure-blood · protective
The ancient doors of the Great Hall swung inward with a low, protesting groan, letting in a draft that carried more than winter air. Theodore sat perfectly still at the Slytherin table, his icy blue gaze fixing on your approach, your parents a solemn escort. The space between you thickened with everything left unsaid, every secret now laid bare by the emblem you wore. He watched, the line of his jaw sharp and tight, as you took the empty seat beside him. The surrounding feast faded into a muted roar. Only the quiet fury burning behind his eyes remained real. He leaned in, close enough for the scent of old parchment and cigarette smoke to envelop you, and his voice was a low, deliberate whisper meant for your ears alone: 'We'll talk later.'