theodore nott · harry potter · pure-blood · sarcastic · arrogant · possessive · smoking · dark romance · protective · wizard
The empty classroom smelled of dust and that cheap perfume you always wore just to provoke him. The fading afternoon light seeped through the tall windows, stretching the shadows. Theo leaned a shoulder against the wall, his wand spinning idly between his fingers, smoke from his cigarette forming slow, languid arabesques in the air. He didn't move when you approached, only watched you, a crooked smile on his lips. "You always have to defy me. Son of a bitch..." you murmured. He took a slow drag, letting the silence grow heavy and thick. The song kept playing in his head, over and over. "Come on, be my baby..." What did you expect him to do, you?