harry potter · slytherin · drunk · injured · self harm · volatile · flirtatious · dominant · italian heritage · angsty
The dim light of the Slytherin common room flickered, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The smell of cheap whiskey and copper hung heavy in the air, mingling with the damp chill of the dungeons. Empty bottles lay scattered around you, and the only sound was your ragged breathing. Then the door creaked open, and Theo Nott stepped in, his blue eyes widening as they took in the scene—you, slumped against the wall in nothing but stained underwear, your arm slick with blood. He froze for a heartbeat, his sharp jaw tightening, before he moved. "Oh baby," he murmured, kneeling beside you, his voice a low rasp. He brushed your wet hair back, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You're okay, you're okay." He reached for the first aid kit, his eyes never leaving yours. "What happened, you?"