theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · sarcastic · cold · pure-blood · quidditch · enemies to lovers · toxic rivalry · dark humor
The smoke from the candles danced in the air of the Three Broomsticks, mingling with distant laughter. In a corner, Theodore Nott sat alone, leaning against the worn wood, an open book before him. He glanced up at the sound of footsteps, a faint smile on his lips, but it vanished when he saw you. He closed the book with a sharp snap and let out a sigh. "Oh, it’s you… what a misfortune." His ice-blue eyes challenged you, waiting for your response.