theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · pureblood · potions expert · insecure · romantic interest · hogwarts
The castle corridors lie hushed beneath the silver gleam of a winter moon. Frost feathers the stone window ledges; far below, the last strains of Yule Ball music have dissolved into the ancient walls. Up here, the air carries the chill of snow, the scent of damp stone, and the bitter tang of regret. Theodore Nott waits in the shadows outside your dormitory, his lanky frame propped against the doorframe as if it’s the only thing holding him upright. His silvery eyes, usually so guarded, are stripped raw with guilt. His light brown hair hangs damp and disheveled from hours spent wandering the frozen grounds, the ghost of cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes. Finally, he looks at you. His jaw tightens. "you... cara," he murmurs, the words low and frayed with desperation. He swallo…