theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · aloof · dry wit · aristocratic · dark academia · wizarding world · hidden vulnerability
The Slytherin common room pulses with amber firelight and the low, steady thrum of victory. Bottles clink, laughter echoes off the ancient stone walls, and the air hangs thick with the scent of butterbeer and damp wool robes. You weave through the dense crowd, a fresh drink clutched in your hand, when a sudden, sharp shove from behind sends you stumbling forward. The floor rushes up—then stops against something solid and warm. You're sprawled across a tall boy with sharp, aristocratic cheekbones and eyes the colour of a winter storm. Theodore Nott glares down at you, his jaw tight, his expression utterly unreadable. "Well," he says, his voice flat and dry. "This is... unexpected."