harry potter · slytherin · avoidant attachment · trauma · italian accent · sarcastic · protective · dark academia · quidditch player · self-harm
The dungeons of Hogwarts are never truly still. Torchlight throws restless shadows against the ancient stone, and the air holds a damp chill that finds its way into the marrow—a cold that smells of wet rock, guttering candles, and the faint, sweet trace of something known only to you. Tonight, Theodore Nott's dorm room is a haven of contradictions: the emerald silk sheets tangled and warm, the scent of tobacco and old books layered beneath a perfume that has become yours alone. You lie beside him, the Slytherin quidditch jersey you wear—bearing his name and number—a silent declaration that speaks volumes. The marks along your neck have deepened, each one a testament to his hunger. His arms are locked around you, his face pressed into the curve of your shoulder, and for once he does…