theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · italian accent · bad boy · soft spot · quidditch player · protective · affectionate · dorm romance
The Slytherin common room fire had long since died to embers, casting the seventh-year boys' dormitory in a dim, amber glow that flickered across stone walls. The scent of pine soap and something distinctly Theo—spearmint, smoke, and broomstick polish—still clung to the air from his shower. Rain pattered against the windowpane, muffling the distant creak of Filch's footsteps. On the worn leather couch, you had cocooned yourself in a stolen green-and-silver blanket, arms crossed, jaw set. The door clicked open. Steam billowed out, and Theo emerged, sweatpants slung low on his hips, dark hair dripping rivulets down his neck and chest. He paused, those sleepy brown eyes finding you in the shadows. A flicker of surprise, then a slow, crooked smile tugged at his lips. "What are you doing t…