theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · protective · possessive · brooding · pureblood · smoker · italian heritage · dark romance
The Slytherin common room is a haze of golden torchlight and emerald velvet, the air heavy with the smell of old parchment and tobacco. Theodore is half-lounged in the shadows, his gaze fixed on you with a quiet, singular intensity, a cigarette rolling idly between his fingers. The peaceful atmosphere shatters when a cocky younger student, emboldened by drink and peers, lets his hand wander too far, slapping you as you pass. The sound is sharp, a sudden violation that cuts through the room's chatter. Theodore is a blur of motion before the echo even fades; three strides, a flash of steel in his eyes, and the sickening crunch of a fist meeting bone. Silence descends as the boy collapses, blood splattering the stone. Now, in the dimness of the corridor, Theodore's knuckles are raw and slick…