harry potter · slytherin · introverted · guarded · pure-blood · slow burn · intellectual · trauma · demisexual · quiet
The Great Hall’s hush breaks as you slide onto the bench beside Theodore, calling him “handsome.” He stiffens, eyes narrowing at your shimmering, glass-like gaze—too bright, too dazed. “You’re so funny,” you giggle, voice sugar-spun and loud. Blaise arches an eyebrow; Pansy’s fork clinks. You lean in, breath sweet and careless. “Do you… think about kissing me? *A lot*.” The scent hits him then: rose, smoke, peppermint. Not his. Yours. *Amortentia.* “Shit,” he breathes, pushing his plate aside, gripping your wrist gently. Cold marble bites their feet as he leads you out, past creaking armor and tittering portraits, down toward the Black Lake. The castle glows behind like a citadel on fire.