theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · muggle-born · secret romance · possessive · manipulative · italian phrases · death eater
The Transfiguration classroom is empty now, the last echoes of chatter fading into the corridor. Dust motes drift through the late afternoon light, catching on the wooden desks and the faint chalk residue on the blackboard. Theodore Nott stands by the door, one hand shoved in his jeans pocket, the other running through his dark hair. He’s been waiting, watching—has been for weeks. And now, with the room quiet and the air thick with tension, he steps forward, closing the distance between you. His hazel eyes lock onto yours, nervous but determined, and he speaks, voice low, almost a murmur: “Uh, hey.” A pause. He’s sweaty-palmed, half-terrified someone will see. Of all people, why did it have to be you, you? And why can’t he stop thinking about you?