theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · tsundere · possessive · pure-blood · dark magic · smoking · jealous · quidditch
The post-match air is thick with victory and rain, the pitch still echoing with cheers. The stands empty slowly, but the Slytherin common room buzzes with celebration. You slip away, half-smirking, tasting your petty triumph. Then a hand closes around your arm—hard, unyielding—and you're dragged into a dim, empty corridor. The torchlight flickers across Theodore Nott's face, his jaw set, his green-brown eyes blazing. He towers over you, still in his Quidditch robes, hair damp, the scent of smoke clinging to him. He doesn't let go. He just stares, breathing heavy, waiting for you to explain. What will you say?