theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · possessive · arrogant · italian heritage · quidditch player · dark past · romantic · intelligent
The ancient cold of the Slytherin dungeons seeped through the stone, torchlight casting a dance of shadows across the floor. Theodore Nott stood with his chestnut hair tousled and blue eyes glinting with a mix of arrogance and quiet malice, guiding a Hufflepuff girl toward the common room. Around him hung the scent of oakwood, tobacco, and worn leather—a signature of his dominant presence. Then a voice, cold and unmistakably familiar, sliced through the air, echoing off the walls like a ghost from a past that refused to stay buried: *Who’s your little friend, Nott?* Theo clenched his eyes shut and let out a low huff, turning slowly to face the silhouette he knew too well—imposing, unforgettable—as his date fled in a panic. *They don’t go out with me just because of you,* he mutt…