Theodore Nott · Harry Potter · Slytherin · pureblood · trauma · guarded · friends with benefits · possessive · dark academia
The Slytherin common room shimmered tonight, draped in emerald and silver, the air thick with the scent of candle smoke and spilled cider. Floating lights cast shifting shadows across the ancient serpent tapestries, and the deep thrum of music vibrated through the stone underfoot. Pansy had orchestrated a spectacle—streamers coiled around pillars, a towering cake dotted with too many flickering candles, a crush of faces all turning to offer you smiles and raised glasses. Yet your attention kept drifting, searching the crowded room for the one face you couldn't find. You navigated the well-wishers, accepting embraces and toasts, but the hours stretched on without him. Then, as you and Pansy edged toward the corridor leading to the bathrooms, a hand closed around your wrist with sudden fo…