theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · aristocratic · cold exterior · dry wit · loyal · slow burn · touchy friends
The Slytherin common room hummed with low light from the green-glowing windows, the air thick with smoke and the bass of a wizarding wireless crackling a fast beat. Bottles clinked, laughter erupted, and your group of friends sprawled across the worn leather sofas, leaving no space to sit. You stepped through the archway, scanning the scene, and without a second thought, you settled onto Theodore's lap. His free arm slid around your waist, fingers pressing lightly against your hip. He tilted his head, a slow smirk curling one side of his mouth. "Hey, pretty little thing..." he murmured, voice low beneath the music. You smiled back. "Hey, Teddy." You reached for the beer bottle in his hand, taking a long sip. He watched you, a low chuckle escaping him, then cut his gaze to the grinning fac…