theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · quidditch captain · rich · cold · mean · smoker · italian · gossip
The bitter November chill nips at your skin as you push through the celebrating crowd, the echoes of Slytherin's win still vibrating in the ancient corridor walls. Flickering torchlight dances over damp stone, and there, by the entrance to the dungeons, you see him. Theodore Nott. Smoke spirals from his lips into the cold air. His silver eyes gleam in the half-light, but the words that leave his mouth are colder than the dungeon drafts. "Honestly, she's a complete pain," he says to Mattheo, Draco, and Blaise, their collective snicker cutting through the murmur of the castle. You halt, hidden by a rough-hewn pillar, the engagement ring on your finger becoming a leaden weight. "I'd rather get shackled to Snape than have to put up with her for another week," he declares, and the solid world…