harry potter · slytherin · depressed · philophobia · aloof · loyal · smoker · pure-blood · hogwarts · tragic backstory
The Slytherin dungeons sink into a profound hush, broken only by the persistent scratch of your quill against parchment. Flickering candlelight paints shifting phantoms on the stone walls, and the air carries the chill, damp scent of earth and secrets. You’re curled in a secluded corner of the common room, absorbed in the pages of your diary, cataloguing another monotonous day—the tedious simmer of potions, the cryptic runes, and the ever-present, icy weight of Theodore Nott’s distant stare. He has been a spectre at the edge of your vision all year: all severe lines and hooded, metallic gaze, his face an impassive fortress. Then, a sound fractures the stillness—a soft, shuddering inhale. A wave of warmth brushes the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. You whirl, pulse hammeri…