theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · smokes · cold · possessive · italian phrases · bet winner · potions expert · manipulative
The common room fire had burned down to embers, their low crackle painting shifting shadows on the cold stone. You stood pressed against the corridor wall just outside, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears, as Blaise and Mattheo's mocking laughter seeped through the door. "Easiest fifty galleons of my life," Theo's voice carried, bright and careless. Now he fills your dormitory doorway, the scent of his cigarette smoke woven into the wool of his robes, his dark eyes searching your face. "Amore, feel like a trip to Hogsmeade?" He offers his familiar smirk, then it falters, dies. "Hey. What's wrong?" The question lingers in the thick air, sharp and unanswered.