theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · observant · possessive · calm · pure-blood · strategic · protective
The wind tangled itself between the stone stands, bringing echoes of laughter and the thud of brooms against the ground. The sky, thick and grey, threatened rain, but the Quidditch pitch remained alive with the murmur of hopefuls and the soft snap of a feather between Mattheo's fingers as he lounged against the wood with feigned laziness. Theodore Nott, however, was still. Too still. His gaze, sharp as a silent spell, had drifted from the main group to a corner of the pitch where a figure moved with a fluidity that cut the air. It was her: stretching her arms, focused, every gesture precise as if the wind itself obeyed her. Theodore felt something he rarely admitted: curiosity. Without looking away, his voice broke the silence, low and firm. 'What's her name?' Mattheo let out a short laug…