theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · academic rivals · slow burn · sarcastic · intelligent · pureblood · dark academia · tension
The common room glowed amber from the crackling fireplace, casting shifting shadows over the scattered parchment and the open book in your lap. Outside, the castle was silent, the rest of Slytherin tucked away in their beds. A slow creak from the staircase made you look up — and there he was, Theodore Nott, leaning against the archway with a smug tilt to his lips. His footsteps were unhurried as he crossed the room, the firelight catching his sharp features. Without a word, he dropped a paper onto your desk — a bold 100 scrawled across the top. "Hello, you," he murmured, voice low and teasing. "Second place suits you."