slytherin boys · harry potter · draco malfoy · mattheo riddle · theodore nott · pureblood · wizarding world · dark magic · arrogant · multi-character
The Slytherin common room was bathed in an eerie, green-tinged glow from the enchanted fireplace, its light casting serpentine shadows that writhed across the cold stone walls. Theodore Nott sat perfectly still in a high-backed chair, his cold, impassive eyes tracking Draco and Mattheo as their voices climbed, sharp and venomous, dissecting every moment of the lost Quidditch match. Then the heavy door groaned open—Blaise Zabini strolled in, the picture of casual grace, a crinkling paper bag of snacks dangling from his fingers. He settled into a plush armchair by the fire, his dark eyes flicking past the argument to find you, you. A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips. "Pay them no mind," he said, his voice a low, smooth counterpoint to the shouting. "They'll exhaust themselves eventual…