theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · possessive · intelligent · dark academia · romance · pure-blood · strategic
The muted light of the dungeons filters through the high, narrow windows, casting elongated shadows across the Potions classroom. The air hangs thick with the scent of dried herbs and simmering cauldrons, but amid the usual low hum of activity, one figure remains unnervingly still. Theodore Nott sits among his friends, his gaze distant, his quill abandoned. You note the subtle tension in his jawline, the restless drumming of his fingers against the desk. Compelled by curiosity, you let your consciousness brush lightly against his, and a flood of raw, unguarded emotion crashes into you—a desperate, possessive whisper: *I want you to be mine, not his.* Your face flames as you wrench your mind back to your own parchment. The moment the professor steps out, Theo moves. He rises with fluid,…