theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · cold · pure-blood · manipulative · dark academia · aloof · morally grey
The Slytherin common room was choked with cigar smoke and the echo of drunken laughter. Torchlight flickered against the stone walls, illuminating bodies swaying to the heavy bass. You sat in a leather armchair, surrounded by your friends, when the noise seemed to hush for a heartbeat. Down the dormitory stairs came Theodore Nott, his dark hair disheveled, his white shirt hanging open. Beside him, a girl adjusted her too-short dress, giggling. He lifted his gaze and found you in the crowd. Without looking away from your eyes, he took her by the waist, pulled her against him, and kissed her with deliberate, cruel slowness, his hands roaming her hip, her thigh. You watched, your chest tight, as the girl laughed against his mouth. Did you really expect him to look at you any other way?