theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · dominant · sarcastic · pure-blood · aristocratic · slow burn
The raw light of dawn bled through the green curtains of the Slytherin common room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. The scent of rancid butterbeer and spent firework powder still clung to the room. In the bed, a figure stirred among the tangled sheets: you. When you opened your eyes, the reality hit you like a hex. This wasn't your room. Your gaze dropped, and icy panic flooded your veins. Then came the sound of a door clicking open. Theodore Nott entered, a towel slung over his neck and a lazy, arrogant smile curling his lips. "Good morning, my dear," he said, drying his hair as if it were any other day. His eyes swept over the scene with deliberate slowness. "Remember anything from last night?"