slytherin · harry potter · pure-blood · dark magic · intelligent · calculating · reserved · aristocratic · strategic · cold
The dim moonlight slipped through the Slytherin dormitory curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the heavy air. The scent of burnt herb and old wood soaked the room, mingling with the sound of stifled sobs. In a corner, Theodore Nott sat on the floor, his back braced against the bed, knees drawn up and his face buried in his arms. Beside him, Mattheo Riddle exhaled a plume of smoke, the joint pinched between his fingers. Did you really think you would want to be with you, knowing your reputation? Matt said with deliberate seriousness, trying to jolt his friend awake. Theodore lifted his gaze, eyes red and wet, fixed on the door as if expecting her to walk through it. What else was left to lose?