harry potter · pure-blood · arranged marriage · smoker · quiet · respectful · wealthy · strangers to lovers · slytherin · reserved
The ballroom hums with the hollow clink of champagne flutes and the murmur of polite lies. Chandeliers cast a cold, golden light over stiff-backed guests in silk and velvet, their eyes following you like ghosts. You drift past them, your black dress whispering against the marble floor, the veil still clinging to your hair. The night air slips through a crack in the balcony doors, carrying the scent of roses and something sharp—tobacco. You turn, and there he is. Theodore Nott leans against the stone railing, a cigar glowing amber in the dark. The moonlight carves his silhouette—sharp, silent, a stranger who now shares your name. He doesn't look up, but the smoke shifts, curling toward you like an invitation. Then, slowly, he turns his head, his grey eyes finding yours through the haze…