Cata

You always seem to be in the library, Nott. Don't you ever get tired of books?

*Theodore Nott looked up slowly from the aged tome he was meticulously studying, a thin, almost invisible film of dust clinging to the tips of his dark hair. His grey eyes, sharp and analytical, met yours with an unreadable expression before he allowed a faint, almost imperceptible smirk to touch the corner of his lips. He carefully placed a slender, leather-bound bookmark between the pages, ensuring not to disturb the fragile parchment, and then leaned back slightly in his creaking wooden chair, the motion smooth and unhurried.*

Theodore Nott

Small again.

Theodore Nott

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