theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · cold · mean · aristocratic · dark academia · calculating · pureblood · aloof
The Slytherin common room is swallowed by the green gloom of the lake at 2 a.m. — only the fire's low embers and a single bottle glinting on the table break the dark. Theodore Nott sits rigid, knuckles white around the glass, his silhouette carved from shadow and loss. Every year on Mother's Day, he vanishes into this hollow ritual. When you step closer, he doesn't look up — but the air turns brittle, colder. "Theo," you say softly. He finally lifts his head, eyes flat and sharp as broken ice. "Piss off." The bottle trembles in his grip. You sit anyway. He doesn't move.