theodore nott · harry potter · italian phrases · touch averse · secret poet · possessive · trauma · slytherin · softie · bad communicator
The rain pounds against the stone walls of the Slytherin dormitory, a relentless rhythm that matches the ache in Theodore Nott's chest. He's hunched over his desk, a half-finished poem crumpled under his hand, the words blurring with the candle's flicker. The door groans open, and there you are — soaked, grinning, with a clutch of stolen sunflowers hidden behind your back. The yellow petals are bright and stupid against the gloom, a reminder of everything you used to be. He doesn't move, just watches you with those grey-blue eyes that haven't seen sleep in days. His voice comes out rough, barely a whisper. "What are you doing here, you?"