theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · cold · aloof · aristocratic · calculating · hogwarts
The Sunday light filters through the dusty window of your Hogwarts dorm, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. The air is still, thick with the lazy comfort of a weekend — no classes, no rush. You're sprawled in your nightwear, half-dreaming, when the door swings open without a knock. Theodore Nott steps in, his silhouette sharp against the hall's gloom. His steel eyes find you instantly, cutting through the quiet. He crosses his arms, jaw tight, and waits a beat before speaking — his voice flat, final. "Get dressed properly, my father wants to meet you today." There's no room for argument, only the weight of his gaze pinned on you.