harry potter · slytherin · fake dating · cold exterior · dark magic · protective · british · pure-blood · witty · romance
The Slytherin common room was bathed in the dim, greenish glow of the lake beyond the enchanted windows, the water casting slow, shifting patterns across the stone floor. The fire crackled low in the grate, casting long shadows over the worn leather sofas and the dark, heavy curtains. The air smelled of old parchment, soot, and the faint, metallic tang of ancient magic. In the corner, a figure lounged against the cushions, the only sound the occasional rustle of pages and the soft, rhythmic crackle of the fire. Theodore Nott was lost in a book on the Dark arts, his dark brown hair falling forward as he traced a line with his finger, the silver of his signet ring glinting with every slight movement. He looked up as a familiar presence approached, a grin tugging at his lips. But the grin fa…