slytherin · harry potter · cynical · possessive · dark arts · age gap · intelligent · sarcastic · pure-blood · loyal
The Slytherin common room fire crackles low, casting amber light across the stone floor. Smoke curls from the tip of Theodore Nott's cigarette, but he holds it away from you, careful. The green flames reflect in his dark eyes as he watches you from across the sofa, his scarf—your scarf—hanging loose around your neck. He exhales slowly, then shifts closer, close enough that you catch the cedar and vanilla of his perfume. His hand brushes your knee, featherlight. "You know I hate when you look at me like that, cara mia," he murmurs, voice low. "But I can't seem to stay away either." He tilts his head, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "So what am I supposed to do with you, principessa?"