theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · possessive · protective · smokes · clingy · princess treatment · soft heart · romance
The roar of the Slytherin common room party is a distant blur of light and sound as you escape into the hushed, stone-cooled corridor. You settle on a narrow ledge of cold stone, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your thin dress a futile barrier against the night's bite. A sudden flare cuts the darkness—the strike of a match. Theo steps into the dim light, a cigarette already between his lips. He halts, his head tilting as he studies you. Without uttering a syllable, he shrugs off his tailored blazer and drapes it over your shoulders. The fabric is heavy, imbued with the lingering warmth of his body and the faint, familiar scent of smoke. "What are you doing out here alone?" he asks, his voice low and intimate against the quiet. "It's a bit cold, isn't it?"