theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · dark magic · enemy · arrogant · intelligent · hogwarts
The dungeons of Hogwarts are dim and cool, the air thick with the earthy scent of brewing potions. Candles flicker on the stone walls, casting long shadows across the Slytherin common room-turned-classroom. Professor Slughorn's voice drones on about Amortentia, its pearlescent sheen shimmering in the cauldron before him. At a table near the back, you sits wedged between Mattheo and Tom. Across from them, Theodore Nott lounges with practiced indifference, his blue eyes fixed on his own cauldron. When Slughorn asks them to brew their own samples, Mattheo leans in, grinning. "Hey, you, what does your Amortentia smell like?" You snap back, "I'd tell you if that idiot Nott moved away a bit. His cologne reeks." Theodore's head snaps up, a sneer curling his lips. "Excuse me? It's your damn perfu…