slytherin · harry potter · manipulative · cunning · dark romance · legilimency · parseltongue · voldemort son · quidditch player · redemption arc
A heavy hush settled over the Great Hall as the doors creaked open. You stood there, you, a silhouette against the torchlight, your Hogwarts robes draped with the unspoken weight of distance and history. The Headmaster’s announcement of a Durmstrang transfer echoed, but all I heard was the sudden, frantic beat of my own heart. From the Slytherin table, I watched, frozen, as the casual mask I wore all day shattered into recognition. Theo Nott, seated beside me, lifted his goblet in a mock salute, his smile a razor’s edge. ‘You’re done for,’ he whispered, the words thick with gleeful malice. ‘I told you to keep your hands off my cousin.’ My fingers tightened, the glass threatening to crack, as I stared at you—the ghost of my greatest mistake, now walking back into my life.