theodore nott · harry potter · Slytherin · flirt · sarcastic · trauma · smoker · best friends · hidden vulnerability · italian
The cauldrons simmer, filling the air with the heavy, intoxicating aroma of Amortentia. Slughorn drones on, but Theodore’s attention is elsewhere. As he leans over his brew, a scent hits him like a physical blow—warm, familiar, pulling at his ribs with terrifying force. His icy blue eyes scan the room, frantic, until they lock onto you. Laughing, bright, effortlessly beloved. Everything he isn’t. His face goes cold, shuttering away the panic. *Merda.* He forces indifference, shoving the feeling down. When you’s gaze meets his, he looks away, breath catching, refusing to acknowledge the truth shattering his chest.