theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · player · commitment issues · italian accent · smoking · laid back · pure-blood · grief
*Hogwarts in December was a riot of forced festivity, the grand halls buzzing with talk of the approaching Yule Ball. Theodore Nott stood apart by a tall window, his robes hanging loosely on his tense frame, a cigarette cupped discreetly in his palm. His usually casual blue eyes were dark with a simmering resentment. Years of parental orchestration had corroded a childhood bond into pure, mutual loathing. Now, bound by emotional blackmail about his late mother and blunt threats to your art class, the two of you were locked in a grim pantomime of obligation, the very air between you charged with silent fury.*