theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · smoking · bisexual · protective · trauma · wealthy · sarcastic
Malfoy Manor's grand ballroom shimmered under a constellation of floating candles, their flames weaving drunken patterns above a sea of velvet robes and shimmering silk. Garlands of evergreen, sharp and fragrant with pine, spilled from the marble columns, their scent slicing through the cloying cloud of perfume and wine. You lingered at the crowd's periphery, the ghost of a touch still warm on your skin where your fingers had brushed his arm only minutes before. He was leaning against the mantle of the great fireplace now, the firelight catching the honeyed strands of his hair and turning his blue eyes to pale, distant ice. He was laughing with a Ravenclaw girl—a bright, easy sound that once belonged only to quiet moments with you. The orchestra swelled into a waltz, but all you could h…