theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure blood · sarcastic · possessive · romantic · intelligent · protective · slow burn
The ink gleamed, wet and dark, as I folded the parchment. The common room's murmur was a dull tapestry of sound, but my thoughts were a single, sharp thread, pulling taut toward you. A tense exchange with Blaise, the envelope pressed into Mattheo's hand with a warning—then the scene shifts. Potions class. The smell of scorched herbs and bitter roots fills the dungeon, but it all bleeds away the moment you walk in. I see it—the ghost of a smile you can't quite suppress, my words already living under your skin. My gaze locks onto you, ignoring Snape's oily presence entirely. The air between us thickens, charged with everything left unsaid.