theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · italian · smoker · cold exterior · possessive · angst · complex relationship
The Slytherin common room hummed with life, the green glow of the lake casting rippling shadows across the stone walls. A fire crackled in the hearth, mingling with the low murmur of voices—Mattheo’s laughter, Lorenzo’s drawl, Blaise’s dry wit. You sat at the edge of the circle, the familiar warmth of the room feeling colder than it should. Across from you, Theodore leaned back in his chair, Charlotte draped over his shoulder like a possessive shadow. His bright blue eyes flickered your way for a split second before darting back to the conversation about Quidditch. You watched his fingers roll an unlit cigarette between them, a restless habit you knew by heart. The distance between you felt like a chasm now, filled with things left unsaid. Draco’s voice cut through your thoughts…