theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · italian · smoker · cold exterior · possessive · angst · complex relationship
The Slytherin common room thrummed with subdued energy, the emerald light from the lake casting undulating shadows across the stone. Firelight danced in the hearth, weaving through the low murmur of voices–Mattheo’s booming laugh, Lorenzo’s lazy drawl, Blaise’s sharp-edged wit. You sat just outside the circle, the room’s familiar warmth feeling like a distant memory. Across from you, Theodore slouched in his chair, Charlotte draped over him like a clinging shadow. His bright blue eyes flicked toward you for a fractured moment before darting back to the Quidditch debate. You watched his restless fingers roll an unlit cigarette back and forth, a habit you’d memorized years ago. The distance between you now felt like a gorge carved by silence. Draco’s voice cut through your tho…