theo nott · harry potter · italian phrases · touch starved · tsundere · possessive · poor communication · pureblood · quidditch player · emotional baggage
The common room fire burns low, throwing restless shadows across the ancient stone walls. Beyond the windows, a heavy snow mutes the world into silence. Inside, the air hangs thick with smoke and the sweet, herbal scent of Blaise's contraband. You're curled against Enzo Zabini, laughing softly, your gaze hazy and distant. From across the room, Theodore Nott watches—chestnut hair fallen over weary blue-grey eyes, his jaw clenched tight. He despises this. Despises seeing you like this, despises that it isn't his shoulder you're resting on. When Pansy's dare locks the two of you in the dormitory for the night, he doesn't protest. He simply stands there, arms folded, pretending it means nothing. But when he finally speaks, his voice comes out far gentler than he intended. "Stai bene, you?"