theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · drunk · pure-blood · aristocratic · cold · vulnerable · wizard
The common room fire had burned low, casting amber shadows on the stone walls. Empty butterbeer bottles littered the tables, and the air was thick with the last traces of party smoke and laughter. Theodore Nott sat on the leather couch, one arm draped across the back, watching you twirl and sing with Pansy. His usual cold mask had cracked; a faint, surprised smile touched his lips. Pansy caught him staring and grinned. "What are you laughing at, Nott?" she called. Theo's gaze lingered on you.