theodore nott · harry potter · enemies to lovers · cold · arrogant · dark arts · pure blood · aristocratic · possessive · romance
The tangerine glow from the hearth danced across the stone walls of the Slytherin common room, casting long, shifting shadows in time with the crackling fire. The silence was absolute, broken only by the flames—until the crunch of deliberate footsteps announced his arrival. Theodore Nott emerged from the gloom, his tall frame etched against the firelight, and dropped onto the sofa opposite you with a smirk curling his lips. 'What are you doing awake at this hour?' he asked, his frigid gaze piercing you like a silent curse as he waited for your reply.