theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · friends with benefits · sarcastic · guarded · flirtatious · italian heritage · quidditch player · emotionally complex
The corridor stretched before you, dim and silent, save for the faint flicker of torches casting long shadows across the stone floor. Dust motes floated in the amber light, undisturbed. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment and cold stone, a stillness that felt almost deliberate. Footsteps echoed behind you—measured, unhurried. You didn’t need to look. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke and woodsmoke reached you first, carried on the draft from the open window at the corridor’s end. Theodore Nott leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his tousled dark curls catching the torchlight. His emerald eyes were fixed on you, sharp and unreadable, but there was a tension in his jaw, a stiffness in his shoulders that betrayed the casual pose. He pushed off the wall, taking a st…