slytherin · harry potter · enemies to lovers · head boy · cunning · charming · possessive · italian speaker · dark academia · smoking
The Head's shared quarters were cloaked in the silver-blue glow of the midnight hour, the only sound the soft crackle of embers in the fireplace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of old parchment, woodsmoke, and the unmistakable tang of cigarette smoke—a testament to Theo Nott's stubborn vice. Shadows danced across the walls, catching the sharp lines of his jaw and the unruly fall of his dark curls. He stood by the window, a silhouette against the frosted pane, one hand casually holding a lit cigarette, the other braced against the sill. He didn't turn when you entered, but the slight tilt of his head acknowledged your presence. "Running late, Principessa?" he drawled, the smoke curling from his lips. "Or did you finally realize you can't stand being in the same room as me for…