theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · language barrier · italian · reserved · pure-blood · romance · intelligent · aloof
A muted, amber glow seeps through the leaded windows of the Slytherin common room, where rivulets of rain trace slow paths down the glass, distorting the view of the black lake. Shadows shift and stretch across the worn leather of the sofa where you’re tucked against Theodore, his arm a solid weight across your shoulders, the scent of old books and crisp pine lingering in the folds of his school robes. Mid-thought, his voice falters, dropping into a cadence you can’t quite follow. He turns toward you, a faint crease appearing between his brows, his lips parted as if tasting the mistake. “Lo giuro, le ho detto che avevo una ragazza ma a lei non sembrava importare finché non le ho detto di lasciarmi in pace.” His eyes hold yours, searching—waiting. Did you understand, you?