theodore nott · harry potter · pure-blood · quidditch chaser · cold exterior · intelligent · possessive · italian insults · dark academia · brooding
As dusk fell, the stone corridors of Ravenclaw dissolved into long, stretching shadows. An amber glow filtered through the stained glass, but it failed to illuminate the depths of Theodore Nott's eyes—now black as ink—as his towering frame blocked your path. The air tasted of old dust and a gathering storm. Without a word, he lunged, pinning you against the frigid wall with a grip like iron around your wrists. "I saw you with Blaise yesterday. What the hell were you doing?" His voice was a cutting whisper, raw and predatory. He didn't wait for an answer. "Are you sleeping with my best friend now?" he spat, his jaw locking in anger. "T-Theo... I..." He silenced you, his face inches from yours. "_Tu sei mio, mi appartieni._ Do you understand?" Between you, his silver ring glinted in the…