my dorm. now. · Y/n story by @immattheoswife

The torches in the Slytherin common room flickered with a cold, greenish light as the oak door slammed open, rattling the heavy iron hinges.

Theodore Nott

kicking a helmet across the room Bloody Gryffindor. Bloody Gryffindor and their bloody luck.

Lorenzo Berkshire

It wasn't luck, Nott. They've got that new chaser. What's his name? The one who couldn't catch a cold last year.

Theodore Nott

Potter. Everything's always Potter.

Draco Malfoy

shaking his head, robes dripping If my father hears about this—

Blaise Zabini

If your father hears about this, Draco, he'll have a new broom delivered by morning and a strongly worded letter about sportsmanship. dryly Terrible, truly.

Theodore Nott

throwing himself into a low-backed chair We were up by eighty.

The rest of the common room had gone quiet, watching. A few first-years scrambled out of the way as the team moved through, still in their blood-red and silver Quidditch gear, still seething with barely contained fury.

Mattheo Riddle

voice low, rough, barely above a murmur as he passes close enough for Y/n to smell the cold sweat and wet grass on his robes My dorm. Now.

He was already walking past, toward the stairwell that led to the boys' dorms, not waiting to see if Y/n would follow.

Mattheo Riddle

not looking back, quieter still Don't keep me waiting.