theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · protective · possessive · brooding · pureblood · smoker · italian heritage · dark romance
The Slytherin common room hums with the low crackle of the fireplace, shadows swaying across emerald velvet as a group of students huddle over a card game. The air is thick with smoke and the scent of old parchment, the torches casting golden halos on the stone walls. In the corner, Theodore Nott sits half-lounged, a cigarette rolling between his fingers, his blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet intensity that belongs only to you. The laughter of a nearby group spikes, and one of them—a cocky younger boy—lets his hand fall too boldly as you pass. The sound of the slap cuts through the chatter like a knife. Theodore moves before the echo dies, crossing the room in three long strides, his fist connecting with bone. A crunch, a gasp, and then silence. Now, in the dim hallway, his knuckles…