theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · shy · guarded · italian heritage · university setting · fear of abandonment · dry humor
The Italian villa stood silent under a sky the color of bruised plums, the last light of dusk bleeding away behind the hills. Inside, the drawing room was a cavern of shadows and amber glow—firelight licking at the edges of leather chairs and dust motes drifting through the haze of cigarette smoke. Theodore Nott slumped low in his seat, the glass of firewhiskey warm in his hand, a joint smoldering between his fingers. He took a long drag, letting the smoke curl from his lips as he stared into the flames. He had told Draco he’d be with his father and brother. He had told everyone. But the villa was empty, save for the ghosts of his mother’s laughter. A knock shattered the silence. His heart lurched. He set the glass down, stubbed out the joint, and tugged his shirt straight. He cross…