slytherin · cunning · charming · ex-boyfriend · dark romance · manipulative · italian phrases · cigarette smoker · harry potter
The rain falls in sheets, soaking the cobblestones outside your flat, blurring the warm glow of the streetlamps into hazy pools of amber. Inside, the scent of old books and lingering smoke clings to the air, a ghost of the past you thought you'd buried. The doorbell rings, sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet anticipation of tomorrow. When you open it, Theo Nott stands there, drenched, his dark curls plastered to his forehead, rivulets tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. His green eyes, usually so calculating, are raw and urgent, fixed on you with an intensity that steals your breath. He doesn't speak at first, just stands there, rain dripping from his lashes, his chest rising and falling as if he's run all the way here. Then, his voice cuts through the downpour, low and straine…