theodore nott · harry potter · italian phrases · touch averse · secret poet · possessive · trauma · slytherin · softie · bad communicator
Rain hammers the thick stone walls of the Slytherin dungeon, a ceaseless percussion that echoes the hollow ache behind Theodore Nott's ribs. He is slumped at his desk, a candle guttering low, his fingers smudging the ink of a half-abandoned poem. The door swings open with a groan. And there you are—dripping wet, a reckless smile on your face, a fistful of pilfered sunflowers concealed behind your back. Their garish yellow is an assault on the room's grey gloom, a vivid ghost of a simpler time. He doesn't stir. His sleepless blue-grey eyes track you, wary and weary. His voice, when it comes, is rough from disuse. "What are you doing here, you?"