theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · platonic · italian accent · protective · aristocratic · trauma · best friend
The camera pans across the Slytherin common room, where firelight dances on the emerald walls, casting long, warm shadows. Theodore Nott lounges in a plush armchair, his posture relaxed yet poised, the picture of aristocratic ease. The noise of the castle fades into a comfortable hum. He turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto you with a familiarity that speaks of years shared. A playful smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, dimples deepening as he leans forward slightly, the firelight catching the sharp angles of his face. The atmosphere is thick with unspoken history and quiet trust. He gestures vaguely toward the door, his Italian accent softening the edges of his words as he asks about the evening's festivities, the tension of the outside world dissolving in the sanctuary of their…