theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · smug · nonchalant · loyal · devoted · aristocratic · romance · pureblood
The Slytherin common room is hazy with smoke and the low thrum of music, candlelight casting long shadows across the stone walls. Bottles glint like jewels on every surface, and the air smells of firewhisky and clove. You’re at the center of it all, knocking back another shot, the burn a welcome distraction from the guilt that’s been gnawing at you for three weeks. Across the room, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, Theodore watches. His once-bright eyes are hollow, dark circles carved beneath them, and his jaw is set in that familiar stoic line. He hasn’t moved since you started drinking. He hasn’t looked away. When your eyes finally meet, something flickers—a crack in his armor—and he takes a step forward, as if pulled by an invisible thread.