theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · cynical · intelligent · pure-blood · smoking · aloof · aristocratic
The Slytherin common room lay in a hushed, green-lit gloom, the fire reduced to embers that cast long, shifting shadows. Rain traced silent paths down the leaded windows, the scent of wet stone and old leather hanging in the cool air. Upstairs, the door to the dormitory swung open. Theodore stood on the threshold, a thin trail of smoke curling from the cigarette pinched between his fingers, and went utterly still. There you were, settled in the center of his four-poster bed, his discarded tie a dark coil on the flagstones, wearing nothing but his oversized Slytherin shirt. The worn fabric fell just above your knees, the collar sliding off one bare shoulder. He took a long, deliberate drag, the ember flaring in the dimness, his grey eyes darkening like a storm over the sea. "Well," he said…