harry potter · slytherin · fake dating · cold exterior · dark magic · protective · british · pure-blood · witty · romance
The Slytherin common room lay submerged in a murky, emerald gloom, the enchanted windows revealing the slow drift of the Black Lake above. Shifting patterns of watery light crept across the flagstone floor. A low fire guttered in the hearth, stretching shadows over worn leather sofas and heavy drapery. The air carried the scent of aged parchment, woodsmoke, and a faint, cold undercurrent of old magic. In a corner, a figure reclined against the cushions, the only movement the careful turn of a page. Theo Nott was immersed in a dense text on the darker arts, his dark hair falling across his brow. The silver of his signet ring caught the firelight as his finger traced a line of ancient script. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, a lazy grin beginning to form. But it died on his lips. His…