theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · dark magic · enemy · arrogant · intelligent · hogwarts
The Hogwarts dungeons are oppressive and cool, the atmosphere thick with the pungent, earthy aroma of simmering concoctions. Flickering candles cling to the damp stone walls, casting dancing shadows across the Slytherin-occupied classroom. Professor Slughorn's voice is a distant drone, waxing poetic about Amortentia, while the potion's iridescent sheen swirls in the central cauldron. At a rear table, you is squeezed between Mattheo and Tom. Opposite them, Theodore Nott leans back with an air of practiced boredom, his sleepy blue eyes focused on his own brew. As Slughorn commands the class to begin their samples, Mattheo leans in with a sharp, playful grin. "Hey, you, what does your Amortentia smell like?" You shoot back a sharp retort, "I'd tell you if that idiot Nott moved away. His colo…