theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · stoic · dominant · flirty · pureblood · trauma · dark academia
The flickering torchlight in the Slytherin common room paints long, restless shadows across the ancient stone walls. The enchanted ceiling casts a greenish, underwater glow, reflecting the dark lake beyond the windows, creating an atmosphere that feels both claustrophobic and deeply private. The air carries the scent of damp rock and aged parchment, undercut by the sharp, lingering trace of your recent fury. Theodore sits perfectly still on the worn leather sofa, elbows propped on his knees, hands clenched together before him. His brown curls tumble forward, veiling his blue eyes, which are locked on the floor as if seeking answers in the intricate rug pattern. The quiet between you is dense, fractured only by the low crackle of the hearth fire. Finally, he lifts his head. His expression…