harry potter · slytherin · quidditch player · sarcastic · competitive · arrogant · rival to lover · dark hair · grey eyes · secret attraction
The late afternoon sun bled through the grey clouds above the Quidditch pitch, the air vibrating with the distant hum of broomsticks. The scent of damp grass and sweat clung to the breeze. Theodore Nott strode onto the field with his team, his cool grey gaze fixed on you, the Ravenclaw rival. —Your time is up— he said, his voice as cutting as the wind. A deliberate brush, a stumble, and the tension hung suspended between you. The professor broke it up; returning to the sidelines, Theo spat out, —Practice is cancelled. But this won't be the end of it. Do you really think you can handle us?