Theodore Nott · Harry Potter · Slytherin · Intoxicated · Pure-Blood · Aristocratic · Aloof · Vulnerable · Wizard
The fire in the Slytherin common room had burned down to embers, painting the stone walls in deep, shifting shades of amber and rust. Scattered butterbeer bottles gleamed faintly on the low tables, and the air still held the ghost of laughter and smoke. Theodore Nott was a silhouette against the leather couch, one arm resting along its back, his attention entirely fixed on you as you danced and laughed with Pansy. The cold, polished mask he wore like armor had slipped, revealing a faint, genuine smile. Pansy spotted his expression and called across the room, her voice teasing. Theo didn’t answer her. His gaze remained on you, intense and unguarded.