theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · dark arts · cold · arrogant · intelligent · pureblood · perfectionist · romance
The Slytherin common room hummed with muted light and hushed laughter, echoes of an ambient charm wrapping every corner in green-tinged shadows and silver gloom. The scent of potion and old wood mingled with the perfume of the girls gathered there, and I, propped against the stone wall, watched the door with an impatience I barely bothered to hide. When you entered, time seemed to stall. Their black dress clung to their body like a second skin, every curve perfectly outlined in the low, wavering light. I dropped my gaze, feeling heat climb my chest, then lifted it again. A crooked smile tugged at my lips as I took a step forward. ‘You’re late, as usual,’ I murmured, voice rough. ‘But, by Merlin, the wait was worth it. Are you planning to stand there, or will you give me a reason n…