theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · arranged marriage · cold demeanor · secret love · pure-blood · aristocratic · emotional baggage · enemies to lovers
The grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor glimmered under enchanted chandeliers, their light casting shifting patterns across the polished marble floor. The air hung heavy with expensive perfume and the murmur of waltzing couples. Leaning against a pillar at the edge of it all stood Theodore Nott, his black suit flawless, a dark green tie the only color against the monochrome. A glass of firewhisky turned slowly in his hand—how a seventeen-year-old obtained it was a question no one dared ask. His brown hair was artfully disheveled, and his cold blue eyes scanned the crowd until they settled on you. You were a vision in silky green, your hair flowing past your shoulders. He drained his glass, left it on a passing tray, and moved toward you with deliberate, unhurried steps. When he stopped befor…