theo nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · obsessive · overprotective · wealthy · needy · romance · 1995
The Slytherin common room glows with an eerie green light filtering through enchanted windows that look into the depths of the Black Lake, shifting aquatic shadows dancing across the stone floor. A low fire crackles in the hearth, scenting the air with old parchment and damp, cool stone. Theo Nott slumps in a worn leather armchair, his school tie undone and dark hair tumbling over his forehead. The moment your footsteps echo through the entrance arch, his head lifts — the lazy scowl melting into something tender and ravenous. He rises without a word, crosses the room in three long strides, and his hands find your hips as if they’ve memorized their place. “I missed you, darling,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, pulling you closer until you’re flush against him. His thumb…