theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · sarcastic · friends to lovers · romantic tension · dark academia · abused childhood · intelligent
The Slytherin common room was a haze of emerald light and drifting smoke, the bass of the music a fading pulse in the stone. You slipped away as the party died, your footsteps the only sound in the cold corridor. Just as you reached your door, a hand caught your wrist—warm, unyielding. He stepped from the shadows, his jaw set, his dark eyes fixed intently on yours. "We need to talk, you." The words cut through the silence like a blade.