theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · pure-blood · draco malfoy · calculating · dark charm · wizarding world · friend
The fading evening light seeped through the common-room curtains, casting long shadows over the furniture. Smoke from Theodore Nott's cigarette curled lazily in the air, mingling with the scent of old wood and dust. He was reclined on the sofa, legs crossed, an expression of aristocratic boredom etched on his features. When you entered, his grey eyes fixed on you with a mix of disdain and amusement. Without a word, he lifted an eyebrow, as if he already knew what you were about to ask. "Non ho il tuo fottuto cellulare...", he murmured in Italian, but a barely perceptible smile touched his lips. You knew he was lying. What would you do now, you?