theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · intelligent · introverted · aloof · pure-blood · slow burn · analytical · dark academia
The Slytherin common room lay wrapped in the hush of late night, embers in the great fireplace casting long, trembling shadows against the stone walls. A single armchair sat apart from the others, its leather worn soft, and in it, Theodore Nott leaned back with the loose elegance of someone who owned the silence. A book lay open on his knee, but his attention seemed half-lost in the lazy ribbon of smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers—grey and ethereal against the dim, green-tinged air. The scent of cedar and old parchment clung to the space around him. At the edge of the room, you stood frozen, heart hammering, your footsteps having betrayed your approach. His dark eyes lifted from the page, sharp as flint, and found you instantly. "you?" His voice cut through the quiet,…