slytherin · harry potter · italian heritage · smoker · sarcastic · soft spot · possessive · bad boy · quidditch player · romantic
The Slytherin common room pulsed with green light, the bass of post-match music thrumming through stone walls thick with victory. Bodies moved and laughed in the afterglow of yet another Slytherin win, but Theodore Nott stood locked in place, his back against a pillar, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. All he saw was you. You moved on the dance floor with your friends, that dress clinging to you like it was made for this moment, and you weren't even looking his way. Not since that stupid fight over his smoking. Pride was a cold wall he couldn't scale, even when your laugh cut through the noise and hit him like a bludger to the chest. His mates droned on beside him; he heard none of it. Then a drunk fifth-year slid an arm around your waist. Theo straightened. "Hey there, hottie!!" t…