shades of cool | theo nott

52 || slytherin's king

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
"𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙩"
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Vera pulled Theodore's jumper closer around herself, the warmth of the fabric comforting against the cold November air. The familiar scent of cinnamon, sandalwood, fresh linens, and her favorite ink-on-parchment enveloped her, grounding her in the moment. If she could bottle it up forever, she would. Maybe that was a secondary use for Amortentia...

She could still feel the echo of his presence in the garment as she tugged the loose clothing tighter around her body. Despite her usual disdain for the rough and tumble nature of Quidditch, she felt a swell of pride and something deeper—a fierce desire to see him succeed.

The stadium buzzed with anticipation, the chill in the air doing little to dampen the spirits of the students gathered to watch the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams face off. She threw her silver and emerald scarf over her neck as the cold nipped at her face.

Vera's gaze swept over the pitch, her big brown eyes taking in every detail as the players took their positions. Beside her, Pansy was utterly distracted, giggling at something Charles said a few rows down. Normally, Vera would have joined in or at least offered a pointed comment about the new boy, but today, her focus was elsewhere.

Draco was pacing, his frustration palpable as his eyes darted between the pitch and Pansy. He was at the very edge of the stands, a stupid-looking fur hat tugged over his pink-tinged ears. Vera's lips curled into a small, knowing smile as the blond continued to stare at Pansy laughing with Charles, a hot chocolate in her mitten clad hands. "You made your bed, Draco." She murmured to herself. "Now lie in it." She had little sympathy for him today. His own choices had led him here, and if he was too stubborn to see the consequences, that was his problem.

Out on the pitch, Theo was in his element. The way he moved on his broom was effortless, a perfect blend of grace and power. His focus was razor-sharp, and Vera's heart bloomed with adoration as she watched him take control of the game.

Beside him, Blaise was just as impressive, the two of them working in perfect sync as they passed the Quaffle between them.

The chant started up around her, the Slytherins raising their voices in unison. Draco looked smug as his mouth moved in perfect sync with the lyrics.

Weasley is our King,
He cannot block a single thing,
That is why the Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King!

Vera let out a quiet sigh, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement. She didn't join in—especially not with childish chants such as this one—but she couldn't help but appreciate the fervor with which the chant was taken up.

Pansy raised an eyebrow at the blond who was still singing along, and ignored him, instead offering her best friend some of her hot chocolate. "Want?" She asked, fumbling with the tassel on her silver mittens.

Vera shook her head in response, turning her head to where a familiar voice shouted out. Draco's voice was the loudest of all, tinged with a desperation that only made Vera roll her eyes, her gaze shifting to where Harper, the new Seeker, was fumbling around on his broom.

He was, quite frankly, an embarrassment to the team, and Vera felt a pang of irritation. "Honestly, did he even practice?" she muttered, her voice carrying just enough for those around her to hear. A few chuckles confirmed that she wasn't alone in her assessment.