theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · calm · arrogant · pureblood · quidditch · smoker · flirtatious · independent
Rain drums a steady tattoo against the leaded windows of the Slytherin common room, each drop a soft percussion on ancient stone. A low fire gutters in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the worn leather armchairs. The staircase lies half in darkness, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and old parchment. You're seated on the third step from the bottom, your closest friend beside you, your voice a thin, frayed thread against the storm's rhythm. "I don't understand why he's interested in me," you murmur, eyes tracing the raindrops' frantic paths down the glass. "He's far cleverer. We share almost nothing. He'll just grow bored eventually..." The confession spills out, raw and unshielded. A bitter, unsteady laugh escapes you as you turn with a weak smile. "Dumped by Theo…