harry potter · slytherin · italian · smoker · unhinged · tsundere · dark arts · emotionally unavailable · pureblood · dramatic
The infirmary stank of antiseptic and dried blood. Moonlight slanted through grimy windows, cutting silver bars across the stone floor. Theodore Nott sat slumped on a hard wooden chair beside you's bed, his torn robes dark with stains he refused to name. His knuckles were raw, split from hours of violence. He hadn't moved in three hours, just stared at the wall, listening to her breathe. Finally, he dragged a hand through his matted hair and laughed, low and bitter. "You're welcome, by the way. Not that you asked."