theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · jealous · possessive · enemies to lovers · dark arts · death eater · insecure
The emerald glow of the Slytherin common room casts long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The usual low murmur of students fills the air, but all I can hear is the heavy, rhythmic thumping of my own heart as I step through the portrait hole. And there they are—sunk into the worn leather of the couch, her head resting on his chest, his arm wrapped around her with a possessive ease that makes my blood boil. Mattheo. My best friend. The comforting scent of old parchment and woodsmoke does nothing to stifle the bitterness rising in my throat. I stop for a heartbeat, forcing my expression into a mask of glacial indifference, and stride past them without a single word. My fists are clenched white at my sides, and I can feel her gaze—or perhaps it's just my own desperate, starving ho…