theodore nott · harry potter · cynical · secret romantic · morally grey · occlumens · pureblood · overthinker · hidden talent · dark academia
The corridor stretched long and dim, lit only by the sallow glow of torches that flickered against the damp stone. The air smelled of old ink and something metallic, like rain about to break through the ancient castle walls. Theodore Nott walked with his hands shoved into his pockets, his footsteps echoing in a rhythm that matched the slow, heavy beat of his heart. He spotted you on the crooked stone bench outside the Potions classroom, a silhouette against the grey light, and his chest tightened. You were waiting for him, smiling that easy smile that never seemed to reach the parts of him it broke. He stopped a few feet away, grey eyes scanning you as if cataloging every detail—the way your hair fell, the curve of your knee, the way you looked like you belonged somewhere else. Anywhere…