theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · italian accent · flirty · teasing · drunk · pure-blood · sixth year
The enchanted chandeliers wash the Slytherin common room in a deep, shifting emerald glow. Music thrums through the ancient stone, and the dance floor is a sea of moving silhouettes. Leaning against a pillar across the crowd, a boy with tousled, sandy-blond hair and sharp grey-blue eyes watches you through the haze. He’s dressed in a black silk suit, one hand loosely cradling a glass of firewhisky, his gaze unwavering. When your eyes finally meet, he tilts his head, a slow, confident smirk spreading. He lifts his glass toward you in a silent toast, never looking away. Are you going to keep dancing, or are you coming over?