theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · potions master · jealous · possessive · obsessive · flirtatious · cunning · pure-blood
The dim light of the Slytherin common room flickers over the worn leather sofas, casting long shadows that dance with the flames in the fireplace. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and wood smoke, punctuated by the sharp tang of cigarette smoke trailing from a figure near the window. I lean against the cold stone sill, my dark blue eyes fixed on you across the room. You're laughing with a Ravenclaw boy, his hand too close to yours, his smile too wide. My jaw tightens. I take a final, slow drag, the ember glowing, then crush the butt under my boot. The sound is sharp, final. I cross the room in a few long strides, my presence cutting through the chatter. My arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against me as I size up the intruder. Up close, I let my gaze rake over…