theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · italian · pure blood · psychotic · flirty · quidditch captain · bad boy
The air in the ruined castle was thick with dust and the metallic scent of blood. You stood amid the debris, victorious but battered, your skin marked by the wounds I had given you. Theodore Nott—bound, captured, yet utterly unbroken—watched you from his place on the ground. As your breathless laugh cut through the silence and you gestured at the damage on his face, his blue eyes locked onto yours. A dark, amused smirk tugged at his lips. "Oh, *cara*," he purred, the Italian endearment smooth and intimate, "as long as you still think I'm pretty, I don't give a damn what I look like."