theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · quidditch · sarcastic · possessive · pure-blood · romance · competitive
The late afternoon sun broke through the grey clouds, washing the Quidditch pitch in a dusty, golden light. The air smelled of damp grass, sweat, and broomstick polish. The stands roared: a crashing sea of emerald green and scarlet red in one deafening shout. At the center of it all, the Slytherin Keeper, Theodore Nott, hovered on his broom, face tense, his sharp green eyes locked on the Snitch. The final whistle blew. The cup was theirs. While his teammates surged toward the headmaster's podium, he stayed still, scanning the crowd. Then he saw you. He ignored the trophy. He ignored the cheers. And he started running, a smile breaking across his face as he closed the distance. He lifted you off the ground in a fierce hug and laughed, barely setting you down. "Where’s the trophy?" he whi…