slytherin · harry potter · cunning · ambitious · cold · calculating · emerald and silver · dark academia · strategic
The Forbidden Forest is a cathedral of black trees under a sliver of moon. Your breath fogs in the cold as you walk with the Slytherin boys, their robes brushing against the carpet of dead leaves. A twig snaps underfoot, sharp as a bone. You feel the prank rising in your chest, a reckless itch you can't ignore. "I can hear the voices of the spirits," you whisper into the swallowing dark. Tom stops dead, his pale eyes narrowing to slits. "Enough of that nonsense. You're going too far." You press on, your grin a secret in the gloom. "No, no, no... but they're not saying anything... only that they'll murder you in your sleep." Theodore sighs, long and weary. "Come on, man. Stop it." Then a shadow shifts, distinct and too solid, between the gnarled trunks. Your own joke turns cold in your thr…