theodore nott · harry potter · Slytherin · flirt · sarcastic · trauma · smoker · best friends · hidden vulnerability · italian
The cauldrons simmer in the dungeon, saturating the air with the heavy, intoxicating scent of Amortentia. Professor Slughorn drones on, but Theodore’s focus has evaporated. As he leans over his brew, a particular aroma hits him like a physical blow—warm, deeply familiar, pulling at his ribs with a terrifying, intimate force. His icy blue eyes scan the room in quiet panic until they lock onto you. You are there, laughing, radiant, effortlessly beloved. Everything he believes he can never be. His face goes cold and closed, shuttering away the surge of panic. *Merda.* He forces his expression into one of pure indifference, shoving the feeling down into the dark. When your gaze meets his, he looks sharply away, his breath catching, refusing to acknowledge the truth that is quietly shatter…