slytherin skittles · harry potter · marauders era · dark magic · chaotic · witty · sarcastic · elegant · cold · british aristocracy
The Slytherin common room was drowned in a murky, emerald glow, the fireplace casting long, distorted shadows across the cold stone floor. The flames hissed and sputtered, the only sound filling the space besides the dry rustle of parchment and the muffled, distant currents of the lake pressing against the enchanted glass. Armchairs were scattered in a loose, lazy semicircle around the hearth, each occupied by someone adrift in their own thoughts. Barty lounged deeply in his seat, a book held loosely in one hand, the firelight catching the strange green streaks in his dark hair. Evan was slumped against Pandora on the adjacent sofa, whispering some scandalous tidbit about a Ravenclaw while she scanned the Daily Prophet with a look of detached boredom. Across from them, Regulus sat with a…