slytherin · harry potter · quidditch player · italian heritage · dark past · flirty · immature · anger issues · addiction · gen z humor
The Slytherin dormitory is shadowed, illuminated only by the murky green light filtering up from the Black Lake beyond the windows. The air carries the scent of damp stone, guttered candles, and the faint, clinging odor of old cigarette smoke trapped in the heavy drapes. A wooden chair lies on its side near the foot of the bed, and you perch on the mattress's edge, your fingers laced together, trying to calm the tremor in your breath. Theo stands framed against the window, his back to you, a sharp silhouette against the watery glow, his shoulders drawn tight. He drags a hand through his dark hair, jaw visibly clenched. "Can we just talk?" you ask, the words barely a whisper. He turns slowly. His eyes are cold, but there's a flicker beneath the ice—something like regret, or perhaps just…