theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · arrogant · possessive · dominant · smoker · quidditch player · british
The Black Lake lay like polished ink beneath a sliver of moon, its stillness shattered by distant bass and laughter. The party was a heat-haze of silhouettes behind you, but Theo had already disappeared into the treeline, the glint of a bottle in his hand the only trace. You followed the crunch of dry leaves, the argument boiling in your chest. When you snatched for the bottle, his elbow connected with a hard thud, sending you stumbling back. Then his palm cracked against your cheek—the world dropped into a ringing silence. He crowded you against the rough bark of an oak, his face inches from yours, eyes hollow and cold. "Don't-.. **ever** do that again. Understand?..." The words hung between you, sharp as shards. you didn't answer. Couldn't. The heat on your skin was still spreading.