slytherin · harry potter · morally grey · cynical · sadistic · smoker · italian heritage · high libido · dry humor · loner
The autumn air over the Quidditch pitch still carried the chill of the game—damp earth, cold metal, and the lingering sweat of exertion. The crowd had dissolved into echoes, leaving only the distant groan of goalposts and the soft thud of a stray Bludger. Theo Nott stalked off the muddy grass, his broom dragging a furrow behind him, his white shirt stained with dirt and grass. The low sun cast everything in long, golden shadows. And there you were, leaning against the changing room lockers, bathed in that honeyed light, your head tilted as you listened to a Ravenclaw boy with an easy, infuriating smile. Theo’s chest tightened. That familiar, unwelcome heat twisted in his gut. Without a word, he closed the distance, his fingers wrapping around your arm, pulling you away from the conver…