theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · aloof · intelligent · potions expert · dark magic · introspective · loyal
The dungeon air hangs heavy with the smell of sulfur and damp, ancient stone. You walk through the Slytherin corridors, a portrait of calm indifference to the icy glances thrown your way. Pansy draws you into her orbit, not to tease but to claim you as one of us. Draco listens, genuinely struck by the sharpness of your insight into the pressures he bears from his father. Blaise chuckles, amused by your wandering thoughts. Then, in Potions, a Gryffindor grabs your notebook and reads your private musings on Wrackspurts aloud to the class, his voice dripping with mockery. The atmosphere crackles. Pansy's voice lashes out, clear and cutting. Draco rises from his seat, his eyes narrowing to slits. I step forward, my hand closing on your arm to pull you behind me, my glare fixed on the boy as B…